Sin's Dark Caress (3 page)

Kicking Neon Tears wasn't easy. He'd tried. Numerous times. The worst was when the neon blindness had him trapped in his apartment for three days—helpless until he'd finally lost it and called his supplier. Maybe the only thing worse than being helpless was death—and even that was only a maybe.

If his superiors got wind of his addiction, he was toast. He'd already given them enough fodder to put his ass in a permanent sling.

5

Down to Business

O
beron pushed away the papers and leaned back in his chair. He'd have bet a week's pay McManus was the one obstructing the case. Cops didn't like their jurisdiction questioned, and he obviously had a thing about parahumans. But McManus seemed on the level, just like Bianca said he was. Which left two questions. Who'd been behind the attempt to hack the Bunker's computer system? And why were they trying to impede the investigation?

Luckily, Tones was all over it
.
That Aeternus was worth his weight in computer chips. Oberon rose and placed his palm on the panel behind the strategically placed plastic plant. The back wall slid aside to reveal the secret entrance to the Bunker, his real headquarters. He picked up McManus's report and started for the spiral staircase when the freight elevator in the secret alcove pinged behind him.

“Captain!” the janitor said with a cheery smile as he backed his cleaning cart out of the elevator.

“Chad,” Oberon returned as the janitor wheeled out into the office beyond.

The panel slid shut behind him, leaving Oberon alone. He descended the circular staircase into the Bunker's open plan office to find Bianca and Cody bent over some photos laid out on the table, while Kitt and Tones sat in front of a computer screen. The Aeternus rubbed the back of his neck and hunched over the keyboard again.

“Go get some rest, Tones,” Oberon ordered. “It's well past midday and you've been at this for nearly thirty-six hours straight.”

“Just a few more minutes,” the bald-headed tech said with an absent wave of his hand.

Kitt placed a hand on Tones's shoulder. “He's right. I can work on this some more while you sleep.”

“I need you at the top of your game.” Oberon placed the folder down on the nearest table. “Later, I want you to access the Homicide mainframe and compare this report to theirs. Bianca, I'll need you to make copies of everything, McManus wants it back ASAP.”

Bianca picked up the buff file and began to skim though it, smiling. “I told you he'd come through.”

Oberon crossed his arms. “He seemed pretty adamant that he'd emailed us the original report, and I couldn't smell any lies. He's definitely hiding something, that's for sure, but I'd say it's just his drug habit.”

Surprise flashed across the witch's face. “You know?”

“Sure. I saw what happened the other day. As long as he does his job and doesn't jeopardize this investigation, his Neon Tear addiction has nothing to do with me. Now let's get into the conference room and go over what we've learned so far. Not you, Tones. You go rest, and that's an order.”

“But Captain—”

“And feed too,” Kitt added. “I've put some blood on to warm in the kitchen.”

Tones sighed and kissed Kitt on the cheek. “Thanks.”

As he headed off toward the kitchen, Kitt's cell phone rang. She glanced at it and smiled. “Excuse me a minute.”

Oberon followed the others into the conference room. He took a seat and looked at Bianca, who seemed preoccupied. Cody leaned over and whispered something in her ear. She grinned and playfully punched him in the arm. The two of them were usually partners, but not when she worked with Homicide—the Incubus tended to make some cops nervous.

Kitt came in a few minutes later with a smile still plastered on her face and sat at the computer keyboard.

“I take it from that smile Raven was on the phone,” Cody teased.

She blushed as she nodded. Oberon smiled back at his surrogate sister. It was good to see her so happy again after all this time. Raven was a good man, and she deserved a good man after all she had been through.

“When are they due back from the Adirondacks?” Bianca asked.

“Not for another couple of weeks,” Kitt said, her smile dying a little.

Cody leaned forward in his seat. “So, how are the twins doing?”

“Exceptionally.” Her smile returned and widened into a proud parental grin. “Raven said they've taken to the training much better than even he anticipated. He thinks the new Draconis Nocti will be ready for action very soon.”

“I'm glad they're doing well. And I want to hear all about it later, but now we need to discuss this case,” Oberon said, bringing the meeting back on track. “Why don't you start with the forensic pathology?”

She straightened her shoulders and put on her professional face as she tapped the computer keys. Gruesome images of the crime scene appeared on the large computer screen at the far end of the room. “As you can see—it was very bloody. The parahuman medical examiner, Tez O'Connor, and I examined samples taken from the scene. We were able to identify the victim's blood, amniotic fluid, and viscera. We have even determined that the sex of the baby was a girl.”

She picked up a remote and stood next to the screen as it filled with a shot of the symbol painted in blood on the alley wall. “I've been getting updates from the OPCME. They assumed the victim's blood was used here, but that's since been proven incorrect. DNA tests show the blood is male and human, probably painted at least an hour before the victim's murder. We found dried flakes in the victim's hair from brushing against it.”

“So where did the blood come from?” Bianca asked.

Kitt clicked the remote again, and a shot of a pale male body taken at the morgue appeared on the screen. “Tones did a cross-reference against several other crimes that happened around the same time. This one was a twenty-something male mugging victim just a few blocks from the crime scene who'd had his throat slashed only an hour or so earlier. We got Tez to run a comparison on the blood samples and it came back positive.”

“Were there any other links between this boy and the victim?” Cody asked, a frown creasing his surfer-boy good looks.

Kitt looked at him. “We haven't identified the girl yet so it's difficult to establish. The boy wasn't from the area. He was pre-med at NYU.”

Oberon leaned forward on his elbows. “Was the murder weapon the same?”

She shook her head. “The boy's wound was inflicted with a long curved blade. Tez says it's like nothing she's seen before, and whatever it was, the blade was razor sharp. The girl's wounds are a little bit more difficult to ascertain. The wounds were quite bizarre, as if no blade whatsoever was used. The epidermis and subcutaneous tissue, muscle, and the womb wall were severed with no damage to the viscera or any other internal organs. There were also no blade marks or nicks of any kind.”

“I might be able to shed some light on that,” Bianca said. “I think the flesh may have been opened using black thaumaturgy.”

B
ianca straightened under her colleagues' scrutiny. Everything Kitt had just said only confirmed her suspicions and her findings so far.

“The magic used in the alley was the darkest I have ever seen. So dark it made me physically ill. Magic that black needs blood and death to feed it. When I went over the scene with all my instruments, I couldn't read any definable magic signature; it was too obscure even for my most advanced devices. I think the boy's murder could've been in preparation for the main event. They needed his blood and his death to fuel the spell.”

“Why would they need magic that strong to murder a girl and steal a baby?” Cody asked.

“I think the real question is why would a black thaumaturgist want to steal babies?” Oberon asked.

“I don't know the answer,” Bianca said. “But whatever it is, it can't be good.”

“Right, looks like we have a lot of work to do. Bianca, when you've copied that report, get it back to McManus. I think his insight as a homicide detective may give us alternate views.”

Everyone rose and gathered up their papers except Bianca. She stayed behind after the others left. She wasn't feeling like herself today, which wasn't surprising after what had happened. Was Kedrax okay? He was just a baby, after all. But he'd assured her that with Vincent to watch out for him, he'd be fine. Still, she worried.

Maybe she should've called in sick or something. Not that she felt sick, not at all; in fact she felt great. Her whole body tingled. She held up her hand, willing the energy to take form. Sparks and tiny bolts of electricity danced from one finger to the next, playing across them.

She shut her fist and dropped it quickly at the sound of a slight scuff at the door.

Oberon stuck his head in. “You coming?”

“Sure,” she said, plastering a smile on her face.

The big man frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, fine,” she said a little too quickly. “Just a little tired is all.”

“Okay,” he said, his expression not entirely convinced. “Come on, then.”

6

Happy Birthday

T
iffany swiped a layer of crimson across her lush lips and pouted into the mirror.

Eat your heart out, Gregory Harris.
She smiled and slipped the top back on the red lipstick before glancing at her watch. She'd kept him waiting for five minutes, and that should be enough.

Greg might be captain of the basketball team and the heir to this hotel chain, but she was damn well worth the wait. His dad had him bussing tables in the ballroom to build character. She giggled. He was furious his father had made him work this summer. Greg had ranted endlessly about being forced into menial labor instead of hanging with his friends. She finally got bored and left.

But tonight he'd slipped a note begging her to forgive him and give him another chance. He'd asked her to meet him by the restrooms for a surprise.
A birthday surprise,
and she just
loved
surprises.

Chi-Chi yipped in her sleep. Tiffany smiled and reached into the purpose-built pet bag and rubbed the silky cheek of the sleeping Chihuahua pup. Her tiny birthday present groaned, stretched, and rolled over, but remained asleep.

Tiffany adjusted the top of the three-quarter-length red satin fingerless gloves then ran her fingertips over the black lace choker around her throat, the crimson-painted fingernails gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. With a single thought, she made the cosmetics fly into the open purse lying beside the handbag. Her reflection returned a saucy wink as she patted the complex raven-black coiffure—jangling the gold bangles on her wrists. With a devilish smile, she ran her little finger along the free lock of hair at the front, turning it the exact shade as her lips.

A simple glimmer spell was much easier than dyeing her hair. She dragged her fingers down the other side, turning the lock purple. Thank the Goddess she'd bonded with Chi-Chi this morning. The little puppy twitched and yapped in her sleep again.

This magic stuff is such a buzz.

Today was one of the most important days in a young witch's life—the day she came of age and inherited her powers. Tiffany giggled and hugged herself, barely able to contain the excitement. With one final twirl she craned a look over her shoulder at her reflection to check how good her ass looked in the clingy red velvet skirt under the black leather and lace corset. Every bit the well-dressed witch.

If this doesn't get the poor boy panting . . .

She picked up her bag, slid the makeup purse in the side pocket, and checked in on the darling little Chi-Chi before leaving the bathroom, almost colliding with Greg. He leaned against the wall in his busboy uniform, his arms crossed against his chest and a sulky frown creasing his brow.

He grabbed her roughly by the wrist. “ 'Bout time.”

“Hey,” she complained. How dare he manhandle her this way?

Music and laughter thumped down the corridor from the main ballroom behind her.

“Hurry up,” he growled, sounding strange. He was also nowhere near as astounded by her awesomeness as he should be. In fact, he'd barely seemed to notice.

“Don't be angry with me,” she said, dropping her bottom lip in the way that always reduced him to putty in her hands. “Not on my birthday.”

“I don't have time for these games,” he said, dragging her toward the kitchen.

The music grew louder as someone opened the door at the far end of the corridor. She glanced over her shoulder at the party
, her party
, going on in the ballroom. It wasn't easy keeping up with his long basketball player's legs in her brand new stilettos and tight floorlength evening dress. She almost tripped several times.

“Slow down!” she cried. “Where're you taking me?”

“Somewhere a little more private,” he murmured, looking around cagily as he headed for the exit into the back alley.

Tiffany screwed up her nose. “But it's smelly and dirty out there. Can't you just give me my present inside?”

“No!”

What was wrong with him?
Why was he acting so strange? Usually she had him ready to sit, roll over, and beg on command. Chi-Chi whined, as if even she sensed Greg's weird behavior.

All around them the kitchen bustled. People rushed around, preparing food, washing dishes, and shouting orders. No one seemed to notice them leaving through the back door.

“Greg, let go,” she demanded, trying to pull her hand loose from his iron grip as they passed into the alley.

The bag was jostled and the tiny pup complained with a faint little yip from inside.

“We don't have much time,” Greg said, pulling her farther along the semidarkened alleyway.

Tiffany finally yanked her hand free and turned her back on him to face the wall, crossing her arms. He hated it when she did that, but she was too mad to care. “Then maybe we should just call this all off right now. And maybe I don't want your present.”

“Don't be so childish,” he said, his voice growing strangely raspy.

The light seemed to change in the alley, becoming softer and more subdued, as if some weird sepia tone had covered all the lamps. A mist flowed out of the walls and poured onto the ground. As she stepped back away from it, her heel snagged and she fell, landing on a soft bulk, losing her familiar carry bag. The puppy yelped as she toppled out onto the filthy pavement, then scooted back into the safety of the bag. Tiffany climbed to her feet with disgust, germs all over her hand like minuscule bugs; she could feel them crawling and burrowing into her skin as she glanced down at the drunk passed out on the ground.

Except . . .

The bum didn't move. He hadn't even flinched when she landed on top of him.

She tilted her head for a closer look, squinting in the darkness
.
He wore a similar busboy uniform to Greg's. She looked closer. He was also roughly the same size . . . the same build . . . and even had the same hair color—

Greg?

“I think there's something wrong—” She looked up as the Greg she left the kitchens with advanced toward her, his eyes shining with a strange disturbing glow as he closed the gap.

Suddenly, his features blurred and wavered until “Greg” imploded with a pop.

A glimmer or doppelganger spell?

The fog became thicker—swirling and solidifying into a figure dressed in a white robe that dropped to the ground to become part of the mist. A cowl covered the face, obscuring any features, which made it hard to tell if the figure was male or female within the shapeless folds.

Chi-Chi whined and cowered, backing farther into the overturned bag as the moon emerged from behind the cloud cover, making the weird glow a little easier to see by. But even that didn't help determine the stranger's identity or sex. Whether a
he
or a
she
remained a mystery as the figure stayed shrouded in smoke and shadow, shifting and swirling to obscure it from the naked eye.

She raised her hands. A black stickiness covered her fingers, but the scent was unmistakable.

Blood!

The scream built from the pit of her stomach as she shook her head, trying to deny what she knew was true. Terror swelled in her chest, pushing the scream up her throat, but before it could leave her lips an invisible force smashed into her, forcing her mouth shut, silencing the cry as her body slammed against the wall behind. Her eyes darted to the body on the ground.

Oh God! Greg!

Help me, someone please help me.
But she somehow knew her silent plea would go unanswered.

The ghostly stranger floated in the mist over Greg's body without so much as a downward glance. Tears of terror squeezed from the corners of Tiffany's eyes. The hooded stranger pulled a small glass vial from the folds of the robe. Fear burned the back of her throat as she tried to wrench her head away, but a dark unseen force pushed her arms out farther against the wall, the strain making it hard to breathe as she remained vertically immobilized, spread-eagled against the grimy bricks. Evil power crackled in the air around her, the fine hairs on her arms standing on end. The shrouded figure scooped the teardrops rolling down her cheeks into the thin tube and sealed it with a rubber stopper before concealing it again within the folds of the robe.

Her expensive birthday dinner churned in her stomach and rose quickly, burning her esophagus. The stranger deftly stepped sideways, avoiding the projectile vomit as it burst from her mouth. Some hit the pavement with a filthy wet splat, and the rest dribbled down the front of her brand new dress.

The harder Tiffany struggled, the tighter the invisible grip grew. She couldn't break free, couldn't call for help, and couldn't even use her own newly acquired powers.

Then the spell-weaver began to chant. Multiple voices spewed from within the cowl, male and female, all intoning old, dark, and powerful words in perfect synchronicity. The stranger wove the sinister spell, and an abominable black mist floated in the air around her, swirling, touching her hair, her skin, and pushing past her lips and into her nostrils. The black enchantment forced its way down her throat and twisted her insides like shards of broken glass.

The perspiration on her body turned to ice as one by one the hooks down the front of her corset popped open. The satin and leather garment fell away and the heavy velvet of her dress split open from hem to waist.

Tiffany's eyes widened.

Terror coursed through her veins.

Tears flowed, blurring her vision and burning her eyes.

And the chanting continued.

This couldn't be happening.
Not today
.
Not on my sixteenth birthday
.

She had looks, money, power, and talent, not to mention position. Her grandmother had practically promised her from birth that she'd be the future Domina of the New York covens.

This sort of thing just didn't happen to people like
her
.

The vile spell-weaver dipped a ghostly hand in Greg's blood and approached. She was helpless to get away as
he . . . she . . . it . . .
placed a bloody palm against her lower abdomen. She squirmed to get free of the loathsome evil touch, but all for nothing. The black magic held her fast.

The chant rose in tempo. The words chilled her blood. The figure pulled back and Tiffany glanced down, watching the bloody hand imprint disappear, absorbed into her body along with the dark words.

A heaviness started in the pit of her stomach and grew, becoming more solid as it filled her. The rate of evil words accelerated to an unintelligible babble—not that she understood any of it in the first place. The language sounded ancient and far beyond her comprehension, but she recognized their dark power.

Inside, something moved.

Turning and twisting and alive.

Her abdomen swelled with amazing speed. The stranger, still chanting, pointed a finger toward her stretched, distended stomach. A ripple ran across the surface, a bulge pushed out the side. Then again. It wasn't unpleasant. Actually it felt kind of nice . . . kind of natural. The bulge appeared again and she almost got an impression of a tiny foot.

A baby.
My baby.

The knowledge was sudden and absolute.

Somehow, a child grew in her womb. A girl child. An innocent, untouched by the vile evil that created it. Tiffany could feel a connection to her daughter and a strong maternal instinct kicked in. She wanted—no,
needed—
to protect her unborn child, whatever its origin.

Tiffany closed her eyes and reached down deep inside herself, drawing on all her strength to call on her familiar. Chi-Chi still cowered in the bag, shaking in terror. With a sweep of the hooded figure's hand, the zipper closed, locking the tiny puppy inside. If only the Chihuahua pup could've run, raised the alarm, maybe someone would've come to save her. But now all hope died as the bag skittered across the ground, taking her terrified familiar with it.

The baby flipped and dropped heavily into her pelvis. The dark magician shifted the pointed finger downward. The skin just under her ribs at the top of her rounded abdomen opened with a small split. There was no blood, just pain that bit deep and sharp as the finger moved down, extending the split in her skin. Then the muscle and flesh split, exposing her insides.

The fiery pain ripped through her, a pain so unbearable she longed for the oblivion of unconsciousness, yet she remained totally aware. A scream silently tore from her lungs, as if her very voice had been stolen. Then the child—her child—slipped free of the gaping wound with a sucking pop and a shower of warmth down her legs. Her daughter's large eyes squinted, blinked, and opened—appearing black in the strangely muted full moon light as the babe floated in the air between Tiffany and the dark magic wielder.

The tiny girl blinked again and looked around before her little face screwed up, filling the night air with a newborn cry. The stranger plucked the floating child out of the air before severing the umbilical cord and wrapping her within the folds of its robe.

The figure slashed the finger sideways opening a cross cut and the law of gravity suddenly reinforced itself. Tiffany's viscera dropped from the gaping abdominal wound with a wet splat and she fell to the filthy alley into a pool of quickly cooling blood, intestines, and amniotic fluid.

She couldn't make her eyes focus no matter how much she tried. The cold numbness of her extremities crawled toward the center of her chest; even the pain of her eviscerated stomach had dulled to an icy nothingness. With one last ditch effort she reached out to catch the bottom of the robe with bloody fingers, but they just slipped through the incorporeal mist.

The last thing Tiffany saw were Greg's cold dead eyes staring at her as the stranger floated back into the fog, crooning a multivoice lullaby to the newborn snuffle of her baby daughter.