Dark Strike, page 2
Yes, these priests loved their swords. I did too. And I’d kill for a collection like that.
Below a window framed with heavy gold and red drapes sat a wooden desk, fitting the rest of the eighteenth-century-style wooden chairs that were all smashed.
I’d been in Father Thomas’s office before, and this one was nearly identical. Except for the fact that it looked like it’d been hit by a hurricane—and the dead priest.
The body lay in the middle of the room, facing up, atop an exquisite burgundy and blue Persian rug that stretched the length of the room. I guessed he was in his mid to late forties with light-colored hair and a short, trim beard. His eyes were closed, and his face was cemented in fear or pain. It was hard to tell. Perhaps both. But I did know whatever had killed him either hurt like hell or scared him to death.
He wore the same black ensemble, snug around a muscled and fit physique, just like Father Thomas. He had no injuries, no wounds, no bruises, and no blood on his body. Not even a scratch. I saw nothing to indicate how he died. But there was no denying this man was indeed very dead.
My stomach rolled at the stench of rotten flesh, and I covered my mouth and nose with my hand until my stomach settled. Spewing up my gran’s buttermilk pancake breakfast wouldn’t do anyone any good. Especially since those were some damn good pancakes.
The choking sewer-smell and sickly sweetness that rose from the body indicated an advanced stage of decomposition. But that wasn’t the case. Or at least, that’s not what it looked like.
Guessing by the pasty, graying of his skin, the pale lips, the blue fingertips, the body was still in the “fresh stage” of death. In other words, it shouldn’t be smelling like maggots were having a meat fest in the priest’s innards. Not for another couple of days.
It wasn’t bloated, and there wasn’t any spillage from the nose or mouth. It was as though it had all the smells of a week-old corpse but none of the physical appearance that should go along with it.
In my line of work, I’d seen my share of dead bodies—some with their skin shredded into ribbons, some with their heads cut right off, and some burned until you couldn’t tell if the victim was human or animal. Others were left in pieces, which took a really long time to bag when their parts were scattered all over the city. And yet this one… something was off with this one.
This man did not die of natural causes like a heart attack or a stroke. Something supernatural had killed him.
The priest was one of the elite Knights of Heaven, which meant he was a trained warrior, a killer. He was a slayer with a clerical collar, not the type of man who could be easily apprehended or killed. Think ninja samurai priests and you’d be right.
My eyes went back to the collection of swords and daggers mounted on the wall. Not because they were pretty—okay, maybe a little because they were pretty—but because they would have been my first choice if something or someone had tried to kill me. But each iron hook still held its weapon. Not a single one was missing. He didn’t even use them. Or he didn’t have time to.
Whoever or whatever killed him had been a strong sonofabitch.
Father Thomas turned to me and said, “I wanted your opinion before I call the coroner. They’ll think he had a heart attack or a stroke.”
I shook my head. “This was no heart attack.” There was nothing natural about this death.
“Smells weird,” said Tyrius as he moved carefully around the body, stopping and sniffing along the way like a trained police detection dog. A crystal hung from a pink ribbon wrapped around his neck like a makeshift collar. It was a charmed pendant I’d made for him months ago. The spell disguised Tyrius’s demon energy from the church and made him appear as a regular cat, hiding his true form and allowing him entrance to the church.
I lowered my hand. “Weird as in… he’s decomposing weird?” I asked the cat.
Tyrius sneezed, shook his head, and sat back. “Well, he doesn’t smell like roses. I mean, yes, the dude smells like he’s been dipping in New York City’s sewer system on a hot summer day. But there’s something else. Something that shouldn’t be. Something… different.”
“Like what?” I’d learned long ago to always listen to the baal demon’s gut. If Tyrius said something was odd about the stinky rotting corpse’s smell, I knew it was in my best interest to listen.
“Mmm.” Tyrius leaned his forehead toward the priest’s head and took another sniff. “Not sure. I mean… I know I’ve smelled this before. I know I have… I just… damn it. I can’t remember.”
“It’s all right. Take your time, Tyrius.” I felt Father Thomas’s eyes on me. I knew we didn’t have that much time before the coroner came and the other members of the church started to wander in.
“A demon killed him,” said Father Thomas, his voice trembling slightly. “There’s no other explanation.”
There could be hundreds of other explanations. “That’s what we’re trying to determine. We don’t want to be too hasty and miss something important.” Now that I was representing the angel-borns, I didn’t want to screw this up.
The priest frowned at me. “What else could do that to a man? Look at him. There’s not a scratch on him. Father Martin was one of our best knights. He’s killed many demons. Many. I don’t understand how this could have happened. How the demon entered the church.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time a demon sneaked its way inside hallowed ground,” I told him.
Tyrius’s ears swirled in my direction. “If you’re referring to this demon, I can assure you, no sneaking was involved. How could I with this pink ribbon wrapped around my neck? I look like a mashed-up version of an Easter Bunny.”
The uneasy feeling in my gut tripled. A Greater demon or even an archdemon could have easily broken the hallowed ground wards to kill the priest. Lucian, the king of cosmic douches, came to mind. Granted he wouldn’t do anything unless there was something in it for him. That went for all archdemons. The question was why? What did they gain by the priest’s death?
“I need another go.” Tyrius went back to sniffing along the dead priest’s body.
“Who found him?” I asked Father Thomas, discomfort still gnawing at my belly.
The priest clenched his jaw, his eyes brimming with tears. “I did. This morning. I wanted to ask Father Martin’s advice about a case I’ve been working on.” His eyes moved back to the body and then flicked away like he was having a hard time believing what he was seeing. He wasn’t ready to accept it. Or it was just too painful.
I knew the brotherhood was tight, and I felt sorry for Father Thomas. If I did hugs, I would have hugged him.
“When was the last time you saw him alive?”
“Last night. Around ten p.m.” Father Thomas rubbed his face with his shaking hands. “He was here. Alive before I left. He was alive, Rowyn.”
I looked around the room at the papers scattered on the floor and books. “So, he was killed sometime between ten at night and eight this morning.”
The priest nodded. “Yes.”
“Do you know what he was working on?”
The priest shrugged. “Demonic cases? That’s what he always worked on—the bulk of his cases. He had an affinity for it.”
I moved around the room, careful not to step on any of the books or papers on the floor. I glanced at the old books with leather bindings. A Priest’s Guide to Exorcism, Know Your Demon, How to Banish the Supernatural, Demonology 101 Volume 8. Well, at least he was consistent. The Knights of Heaven were notorious for their skills in successful exorcisms. Though their numbers were few, they were the best. And now there was one less.
I spun on the spot, taking in the dilapidated state of the room. “His office is totaled. They were looking for something.”
“Or that’s what they want you to think,” commented Tyrius and then he dipped his head and smelled the dead priest’s fingers. He jumped back and made a face. “Damn, that’s ripe.”
Still, in my experience, demons didn’t care to stage a crime scene. They came for the kill. For the human soul. They rarely cared about anything else. Unless this was personal and the demon in question had had it in for the priest.
I stepped forward and stared down at the body. “If a demon did kill him, I’m going to need a list of demons Father Martin has recently banished—no, make that all the demons he’s banished in his lifetime.” I knew demons, and they absolutely held grudges. The priest had made many enemies over the years, and if a demon had the chance for payback, I was certain they’d come here to kill the priest.
Father Thomas arched an eyebrow. His dark eyes flickered between me and the dead priest, and pensive lines appeared on his face. “We catalog all exercised demons and banishments. I can get you all that information later today.”
“Good.” It was a start.
“It’s a long list,” said the priest. “Father Martin traveled all over the world, banishing as many demons as he could.”
“I understand,” I told him. “But it’s our best chance at finding which demon did this. Once we know who, we can make the necessary preparations.” Like, kill the bastard once and for all.
An energized buzz of voices arose as priests began circulating the hallways.
Father Thomas moved quickly to shut the door.
“Who’s going to do the church’s investigation?” I asked him, wondering why he didn’t want the others to see.
The priest locked the door. “The church will decide. But I’m going to ask to lead the investigation. I still want you to investigate it, Rowyn. You have access to records we don’t. And your Hunter skills will be invaluable here. I’ll make sure to send your invoice to the church.” A shadow crossed his face. He gave the chamber a somewhat disbelieving stare and then shook his head. “This is really bad for the brotherhood. The church has its own set of rules. We can’t bend them. I need you on this, Rowyn.”
“You’ve got me. Don’t worry.” I knew exactly what he wanted from me. He wanted someone who didn’t care about bending the rules. Me.
But I had the feeling he didn’t just want me to bend them. He wanted me to break them. I could do that.
Father Thomas’s face twitched, and I knew he was struggling with his internal emotions, like all men, because of the “real men don’t cry” bullshit. I’d never seen Father Thomas so rattled before, and I didn’t like it.
I took a deep breath—as much as I could without inhaling too much of that rotten stench—and knelt next to the body. First I checked his wrists, and then I pulled his collar down and checked the skin around his neck.
“What are you looking for?” Father Thomas leaned over me.
“Sometimes demons leave their mark. A branding, if you will, their killing pattern. They want to take credit for the killing. They want you to know, like a serial killer taunting the detective. Demons and serial killers are very much alike. They’re narcissistic. And dicks.”
“I can get you some gloves,” offered the priest, making Tyrius snort.
I glared at the cat, who pretended to be interested in the dead priest’s hair. “No thank you.” I gave Father Thomas a tight smile. “The latex would suppress the demonic energies. I need to feel the skin to get a sense of the supernatural auras.”
I continued to search around the dead priest’s body, checking his ankles, his legs, all the usual spots where demons left their marks. The skin was ice-cold like it had been in a freezer, which was another indication of a supernatural death, but I wasn’t getting any kind of the familiar demonic energies. It was as though they were gone. Lifted. But if the priest had been killed only a few hours ago, there should still be residual energies on the body and in the air.
Yet, something else was present.
A sensation I’d never felt before. It was faint. It wasn’t cold or warm, it was just… different. But one thing I knew for sure, it was definitely powerful.
My heart sped up a little at the sheer feeling of something new, something dark.
I crab-crawled back toward the head next to Tyrius and checked behind the dead priest’s left ear.
“Are you feeling any demonic energies?” asked the priest after a moment.
I settled on my knees, reached over, and turned the head gently to the side to check behind the right ear. “I should… but I’m not getting the usual demonic vibes.”
“Me either,” said Tyrius. “Totally vibeless. Like there’s something blocking out all traces of demon energies on the body.”
“I take it that’s not normal?” asked Father Thomas as he crossed his arms over his chest.
I sighed and leaned back on my knees. “In my line of work, anything’s possible.” I checked the dead priest’s hairline. “But I’m definitely sensing something.”
The priest uncrossed his arms and stepped forward. “What?”
“Like I said,” commented Tyrius. “Something’s here. I know I’ve felt it before. I just… can’t remember where or what it is.”
I stared at the dead priest’s face. His lips were parted, almost like he was trying to tell me something.
“What are you thinking, Rowyn?” Tyrius sat next to the head, his blue eyes gleaming.
The answers were here. I knew they were. And I was going to find them.
I reached over, carefully placed my fingers over the dead priest’s right eyelid, and pried it open.
I sucked in a breath through my teeth.
His eye was yellow. The iris, pupil, and sclera were yellow, like he was suffering from a bad case of jaundice.
There was only one reason why the eyes turned yellow.
“His soul was taken,” I said after a moment.
I heard Father Thomas gasp. Not only did the demon kill Father Martin, but it had taken the priest’s soul. I was used to demons devouring the souls of humans. But there was something profoundly wrong and sacrilegious about taking a priest’s soul.
“It’s worse than that,” said Tyrius.
My heart thrashed against my chest. “Worse than taking the soul of a priest? That’s at the top of my ‘really wrong’ list.”
The cat’s eyes were wide with concern. “Remember when I said I had felt this before? This feeling I’m getting from the body that I couldn’t quite put my finger on?”
“Yeah.”
“I remember now.”
I swallowed hard, not liking the rising tension in his voice. “Tell me, Tyrius. What?”
“A demon didn’t kill the priest.” The cat waited until he seemed satisfied that he had my full attention and said, “A necromancer did.”
Well, crap.
CHAPTER 3
A goddamn necromancer was in my city and had killed a priest. And I knew next to nothing about them. Well, apart from the universally common knowledge of the rising of the dead and all that.
I was clueless. And I hated it.
Clueless did not bode well inside me. As an experienced Hunter, it was my job to know everything there was to know about every supernatural baddie, including necromancers. But the truth was, I’d never encountered one. Ever. Worse, the angel-born Elder Codex database—a computerized program like an encyclopedia for the supernatural—barely had any information about them either. If the angel-born had something on the necromancers, it would be in there.
I was practically blue in the face as Daniel, the angel-born techie who worked the program and served as the expert of the archives, had laughed when I’d called and asked him about necromancers.
“Wait? You’re serious?” he’d said after a long moment of silence while I imagined kicking him in the face.
Still being new on the job, I’d bitten my tongue before I’d made the irreversible mistake and cursed him out. So, I opted for my second choice. “You’re lucky I’m on the phone and not standing next to you right now. ‘Cause I’d kick the smile off your face.” You little shit.
That had sobered him right up.
After that, he’d told me basically what I’d already known. Necromancers were humans who practiced a form of magic, Death magic—that was the only new part. Necromancy was a practice of magic involving communication with the dead by either summoning their spirits as apparitions or raising them bodily to bring them back from the dead or to use them as a weapon.
“That’s it?” I’d asked Daniel. “That’s all there is? Are you kidding me?”
“Sorry, Rowyn, but that’s all I’ve got,” he’d answered.
“I could have Googled that.”
“Yup. You could have.”
“And you call yourselves the experts.” I’d hung after that, no point in continuing to attack Daniel. It wasn’t his fault the angel-borns did a piss-poor job of collecting more data on necromancers.
I was expecting a lot more from the angel-borns, maybe something that would help me figure out why a necromancer killed a priest and took his soul. From what I understood, necromancers were master puppeteers. They loved to reanimate the dead and use them as weapons. But Father Martin’s body had not been animated, not from what I gathered at the scene. No. The necromancer had killed him and left. But why? Why would he or she (because Daniel had also just told me some necromancers were female) kill a priest? What did the person gain from the priest’s death?
I needed some answers. Father Thomas needed some answers. He’d been so good to me over the years, and I owed him. Hell, I owed him a new kitchen and then some. I owed him to track down the SOB who’d killed his friend, and then, well, we’d have a little dance of death.
While I was at it, I’d also filed a case number with the angel-born Council regarding the priest’s death, thus informing them of the situation and details while naming myself the sole proprietor of the case. No other angel-borns were on it—not yet anyway. My personal connection to Father Thomas made this case personal to me. If the necromancer wasn’t afraid to kill one priest, who’s to say he or she wouldn’t kill another. I wasn’t about to let anything happen to Father Thomas. Hell no.
My phone beeped with a text message. I reached over the piles of papers, bills, and books that littered my desk and grabbed it. It was Gareth. I’d texted him the moment Tyrius and I had left the church, getting him up to speed on the necromancer situation and hoping he could shed a little light on this case.
