Soul Stealer (4 page)

Raphael’s kind, by contrast, had nothing but the most reverent admiration for humans. They served them and yet humans were exactly what they wanted to be. Humans were the one thing angels couldn’t be and couldn’t completely understand.

Raphael needed to know what it was to be human. If his chance to walk amongst them were to be denied, Raphael didn’t know what he would do.

If Voro were to do anything to get in the way, well, this odd friendship would be over. There was no doubt about that.

Fuzzy white clouds around everything he could see, protecting him from anything sharp that might hurt him. A golden glow to the light spilling in from the hallway. How pretty … it looked almost like real sunshine.

Jasper swallowed, his mouth dry, his throat feeling small. The drugs. He’d panicked before and they shot him up with something. It had been a while since they’d had to do that but the urge to act up had not been his. He’d been worried at by something big and mean he couldn’t see and understand. Something that could hurt with bigger and meaner teeth.

His skin tingled. He could feel phantom bites on his arms. Across his shoulders, down his stomach. Not love bites. Hard, on-purpose-meant-to-maim kind of bites. The kind where the teeth were trying to takes chunks out of you.

He twitched, half-awake.
It’s not real,
Jasper assured himself.
It’s just the meds. You’re just taking a bad trip.

His brain argued with that calming voice.
You need to get out, run. This is going to kill you, and you haven’t repented for what you did …

Tears sprung in his eyes and he tried to pinwheel his limbs, but they were strapped down to the bed
. The thin sheet was too much. His skin was oozing sweat, trying to get rid of the drowsy cocktail in his bloodstream.

It’s going to hurt, it’s going to hurt so much. And you have to tell everyone how sorry you are for what you did! You killed those two men who wanted to rob you. You raped a prostitute, only getting off on scaring her. You stood aside while Essum had women and men tortured, raped and killed. You let Charlie act out Essum’s sick ideas. And you tried to rape Claudia, too. You wanted to kill multiple people you didn’t even know. Brain-washing or not, you desired to do evil. You craved it.

Ramblings of someone that knows they’re going to die, terrified of the next life and wondering if their future will be spent in agony and hellfire.

He wasn’t alone.

Jasper swallowed again. Something big was in the room. Not big in size so much as in presence. It filled the space and stole all the oxygen, making Jasper hold his breath. His heart wanted to speed up, but it was scared, too, trying not to make too much noise; instead it was swelling beyond its rightful place. He imagined it growing, bulging his sternum outward until it cracked, moving ribs outward the same way, stretching downward until his innards burst from lack of anywhere else to go.

He couldn’t see what was scaring him like this. He felt it focus on him. Not his body, but his eyes. They hurt like a headache out of the blue.  The pain rushed down his optic nerves while he strained at braces he had no hope of breaking. The pain was in his brain, going stereophonic and cranking up to eleven. He wanted to scream, wanted to call for help, but there was nothing else in the world but this crushing darkness over the bed.

Before losing consciousness he thought he heard a rumbling voice say, “Well. Aren’t you interesting?”

Patrice Jenkins wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror, checking her arm in the reflection. One bruise; small, not very purple. Not bad considering there were three separate violent incidents at the psychiatric ward. Charles Goodwin, Jasper McKay and a newly committed woman who’d grabbed a fistful of Patrice’s hair and tried to bite her ear.

Actually, not a bad bruise at all.

She padded across the tile floor to her locker, skin drying once she was out of the humidity of the shower stalls.  She stuffed her scrubs in to her tote bag, and pulled on her socks and panties with the towel still wrapped tight. Exhaustion was making her limbs move slowly, but she was used to it. She’d been doing this job for twelve years and her muscle memory always went from tired and slow to sleeping; which she would be within a half hour of getting home.

As she was doing up her jeans and wiggling in to her bra, she heard the code being called down the hallway. She was going to ignore it until …

“Code blue, room 1210. Code blue room, 1210.”

She paused, then assured herself she had heard right. It was a code blue for Jasper McKay.

She rushed pulling on her T-shirt, jogged through the security gates from the staff lounge, up the flight of stairs to the second floor and made it in to the hall just in time to see the code team move through a doorway down the hall, like the arms of some kind of squid all hovering around the crash cart, prepping for their particular code duties.

Patrice heard the shouted commands as she neared the door, heard the defib equipment humming to life while needles were prepared and leads were put in place. Someone was counting chest compressions.

One hand on the jamb, Patrice watched the team perform like a machine, knowing who else was doing what and jumping to when it was their turn. Jasper’s body was stripped to the waist to allow for the equipment to be attached, but his eyes were big, pointed at her by some cruel stroke of luck. They were wild. Scared.  His body jerked as CPR continued, then from the dull humming in her ears she heard the team all yelling “Clear!” That was when Jasper’s body actually bucked, then flopped back. Patrice became aware of a high-pitched drone, knew it was the heart monitor, and closed her eyes.

Poor Jasper
. Patrice said a short prayer, even though she was aware of his gruesome history of violence against women. He’d always been somewhat calm when she’d been around him. Calm but creepy.

Shit. His sedative. Had she done it right? She’d sedated patients many times over. What if this one -

The code team was taking the leads off the body, throwing away the refuse that the equipment and process always left behind. The doctor had come in. He had to have walked right by her. She hadn’t even noticed. The patient was being declared dead right in front of her. One of the code team members – was it Mark? – pulled the sheet up, covering Jasper’s face. She felt relieved when she couldn’t see that desperate, searching look anymore.

No. The sedative was the same for everyone. He couldn’t be allergic – but then again, it had all happened so fast …

The rest was taking care of itself. She walked back to the locker room slowly. Passing the next room she could hear Charlie wailing like his heart was breaking. “Master,” came the pitiful cries. “Please master … I’m so scared! Master!”

Essum stayed at his table at the coffee shop, even when the group of four cops came in, placing their order and sitting right next to him.

His hands weren’t shaking anymore, but maybe that was because they were wrapped around the mug of hot coffee he had in front of him. His insides were trembling though, and he couldn’t stop his teeth from chattering.

That girl. At the club. What the fuck happened?

He started to cough as he nearly shrieked out loud, and he must have looked a bit suspect because now the one cop across the table from the guy next to him was giving him the sideways-surveillance. Essum smiled back, raised his coffee mug as one would toast the Lord of the manner, and took a very small sip, not wanting to choke again on some insane bout of hysteria.

He’d never felt that kind of evil before.  The look in the girl’s eyes had been so raw and terrified. At first he thought something had changed on his face, something to frighten her, like, oh, maybe, glowing red eyes. But then he’d been enveloped, swaddled in darkness that felt like home to a Sin Eater like him.

And yet it had been so much more.

Fuck. Holy fuck. Yes, she was certainly dead. Eyes sightless before she slumped to the floor while he watched. The blackness h
ad wrapped around her and then she was done. And so was it. Whatever it had been. And he hadn’t felt her leave, either. He should have felt the passing of her soul from the body to the Hereafter.

He’d run. Essum was no fool. He was no longer mist; the Boss had put him back in flesh and blood to hunt down one of his own. He couldn’t afford to be locked up, he couldn’t just get out. And mind control was never very reliable when he was this rattled.

The coffee was gone. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there. But one thing was sure: if that power wasn’t a friendly evil, he sure as hell wasn’t going to sit around to wait for it.

Chapter Four

Voro opened his eyes, wondering what had awakened him from his nap. As he passed a hand over his face, he heard it again; a soft tapping at the door.

He could guess who it was and all he could do was groan. He got to his feet and made his way to the door, stretching arms out to the side like a cat. A big, gruff, hairy cat.

The door swung inward, and he was looking down at the sweet face of one of the novices. She had a cream-like complexion, so fair you were sure if you stood her in the sun you could see right through her. Every time she saw him her cheeks colored in a rosy blush and she looked down.

She was doing just that right now. She gave a soft throat-clearing sound before saying very shyly, “Master Voro, may I enter?”

A few crass responses came to mind about that being his line. But he stepped back and she moved through the doorway, shutting the door behind herself. He stood, hands on hips, looking down on her fair face with those wide and guileless blue eyes. She licked her lips timidly, then looked down again before speaking.

“Master Voro, may I ask what is meant by anal stimulation?”

His response was partly a gasp, partly a laugh, but mostly “What?”

She hurried on. “I think I know what it means, but I must be wrong. Ariel says it was delightful but I just don’t see how …” she let it hang there, so terribly awkward.

He couldn’t get used to angels. He really couldn’t.  They were so sweet looking, the very appearance of innocence. Yet their interests could be voiced so
bluntly
it would make the most vulgar human squirm.

“Gabriella -”

“No,” she said with forcefulness that had surprised him the first time he heard it. “Use the other name you call me. I like it.”

He frowned. “Gabby?”

She closed her eyes and smiled with a slight shiver. “Yes.”

“Gabby, look, Ariel’s in to some sick shit but -”

Again with that shiver, like a puppy when you’re rubbing its belly. Shortening her name and swearing around her was the easiest aphrodisiac he’d ever put to use.

“Can you show me?” s
he said suddenly, and that’s when he realized he’d stopped talking to watch her breast move as she shivered in front of him. These dresses? Outfits? Shifts? They were so damn thin and there was nothing under it but her.

He felt that dirty beast rise up as she looked at him again. Not innocent, just hungry.

Just say no
. Peter wasn’t there, but Voro could still hear him.

Gabriella stepped up to him, one hand on the centre of his chest. She took one of his hands, now hanging limply at his sides, and brought it to her breast. He gasped as much as she did. She wrangled his thumb to her breast, self-pleasuring. She was biting her lip and closing her eyes and Voro knew all he could do was throw her on the bed and give her what she came here for.

Now her hands found the button on his jeans, then the zipper. She reached inside and grabbed him exactly like an angel should
not
. He grunted, momentarily going blind from want.

“Get on the bed,” she rasped as she worked him with one hand, returning his hand to her breast.

He let her walk him back, her hand pumping on him like she’d had a lifetime of experience with it. It felt so fantastic he just lay out on his back while she crawled up onto him, never missing a beat. He felt her shifting over him, arranging her skirts so she could straddle him. Yep, nothing under that shift.

She stood him up in her hand, and lowered herself down again with him inside, gasping like the best porn star you’d ever seen. He barked, back bowing him off the bed. When she started moving he saw stars. Jesus. She was going to kill him like this.

So the next time one of our novices loses sight of her virtue, please keep in mind your dear Iola.

Dammit. Motherfucking asshole.

“Master Voro, you are so big. I feel like you will split me in half.”

Voro’s hands found her hips, and she made a sound of triumph. She liked to be held there while he thrust up into her. Not this time though. He pushed her off the side, totally catching her by surprise. She tumbled to the bed next to him, a mass of blonde curls and pink-white-skirts.

Pushing her hair out of her face, she immediately demanded angrily, “Master Voro?”

“Stop that shit,” he said in his dead-cold tone, the one he used to let people know he meant it. Hard to be taken seriously when you’re shoving your dick back in to your pants.

“Stop what? Did I do something wrong?”

“This has to stop. You guys don’t know what you’re doing. I’m taking advantage of you.”

She looked so confused. “If both parties enjoy it, how can -”

“You ladies don’t understand that this is all it is for me. I don’t mind being a jungle gym under most circums
tances, but I can’t pick a favorite.”

Her mouth was pouty. “Why not?”

“I’m not in love with any of you. Fucking is all it is. And I’m glad you all enjoy it but I know … I know secretly you all hope I’ll pick one of you and keep you.”

Her face was the very picture of hurt and disappointment. “You don’t … love us?”

Voro sighed. “No. Not a one of you.”

“Well then.” She stood up, head down again, arranging her skirts and smoothing the top sheer layer down, avoiding his gaze. “I guess that makes you … a bastard.”

Voro felt such shock he barely registered that she was rushing from the room and running down the hall, her shoes slapping on the tiles. His door was left open, and two passing male novices looked in at him. He gave a half-wave and shut himself inside.

He knew all the male novices hated him. And their boys-only club was going to change its membership requirements.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Claudia couldn’t help but look up, not because of the volume of her co-worker’s outburst, but the tone. Trevor Vance was terrible at hiding emotion.

She waited for him to hang up. Then she turned in her chair. “What’s wrong Vance?”

He sighed, and she felt bad for him. He’d been doing this job for too long, and it had only been a few years. The two of them always seemed to end up with the worst shit to deal with. Just lucky, she guessed.

“Last night? That girl we found in her apartment?”

Claudia nodded. “Yeah?”

“There’s another one. Just called in by the cleaning crew at a nightclub.”

Claudia checked her watch. Yep, it was already that late. Three-thirty am.

“Can we both go?”

“Why not? The more the merrier.”

Claudia flicked off her computer monitor and followed Vance down the hall to the garage. They ducked into his cruiser then he took off through the night streets like he had somewhere he needed to be, minus lights and siren.

“Is the toxicology report back yet on the college student?” Claudia asked.

“Not yet. I hope there’s not some kind of dirty narcotic out there. But that girl didn’t seem like the type.”

Claudia frowned. “Some kind of sickness, then?”

Vance sighed. “Christ, I hope not. The wife was a neurotic mess with SARS and West Nile and Mad Cow. She made me take a chemical shower every time I came home.”

Claudia laughed. “People stayed indoors, though.”

He scratched his chin, nodding thoughtfully. “That’s true. We had a few quiet weeks there.”

The club they pulled up to wasn’t known to Claudia and wasn’t used to police visits. Now there were two squad cars out front with lights on, and a crowd was starting to gather. Claudia was glad to see someone had brought police tape, and they were making a perimeter around the squad cars.

The constable that met them next to the cruisers was still a rookie, but he was good. Claudia liked him. Darrin Brown. Nice guy. He looked a little pale, but he was all business.

“It’s just like the other girl. But we might also have a sexual assault.” He wasn’t tacking that on out of respect for her feminine respectabilities. It was said factually.

“Show me,” was Vance’s reply.

They made their way around to the back of the building, and the lights in the staff hallway were on. There were more lights on in another room, off to the left. Cops were swarming the place like ants on sidewalk-gum, dusting for prints and making notes. From that room came the flash of a camera.

Claudia didn’t want to set foot in that hallway. She made a move to walk in and stalled, cold air playing up her arms. She shivered, then noticed Vance looking at her.

“You felt that too?”

That surprised her. She nodded dumbly, and knowing it wasn’t just her imagination gave her a bit more courage. They stepped through the doorway together.

But the feeling didn’t get better. As they neared that yawning doorway, Claudia cringed. Her head was pounding.
She felt … not
ill.
Very
very
scared.

For Christ’s sake Bauer – what’s going to happen with all these cops here? Just walk!

Vance went through the door first, and she followed, wincing already. For some reason she didn’t want to look at the ground, notice the piteous small pile at the feet of a handful of police officers.

She blinked once as she focused on the face. Pale. A lot of eye make-up. Dyed-black hair.

“Shit,” Claudia said softly. The uniform closest to her was studying her now.

Pierced nose, rings up one ear. Omega symbol tattooed on the inside left wrist. Dragon sleeve up the right arm, bright,
colorful and done by a tattoo master. Not that she could see it at that moment, but she knew it was there.

“Shit,” she repeated louder, then actually sobbed. It surprised her. She slapped a hand across her mouth. Tears were streaming down her face, hot. She had no idea when they’d started.

Now she had everyone’s attention.

Vance was intensely scrutinizing her now, a peculiar expression masking his face. “What is it, Bauer?”

Claudia just shook her head and backed out the door. She didn’t run down the hall to the parking lot, but she walked very, very briskly. She saw nothing. Nothing but Megan Priestly, on the ground, shirt pulled askew, skirt shoved almost right over her hips, splayed out on the ground like a broken doll. Hazel eyes pointed skyward, seeing nothing.

Dead.

The fresh air outside was suddenly cold and refreshing, but it did nothing to stop her heart from racing.

“Bauer?” Vance was at her elbow suddenly, concern on his face. “What’s up?”

“That’s Megan,” she gasped, like she was catching her breath after a foot race.

“Who?”

“Megan. She just broke up with me. She was my girlfriend, up until this afternoon.”

“Something weird’s going on in this city. Must be the full moon,” muttered the late-night news reporter, stalking past Iola as she was just pushing the control room door open.

“What do you mean?” She asked.

Colin Greaves turned around and met her with wise eyes. “They found a girl dead at a club downtown.”

Iola raised an eyebrow. “That’s hardly the first murder of the year, Colin.”

“Ever since last spring when all that shit went do
wn with that Goodwin character? I mean, every dead body makes people nuts, right?”

Iola shrugged as Colin continued out the back door of the radio station. She made her way into the control room to do her next break. Colin didn’t work here when “all that shit” went down. He likely didn’t know she’d been linked to it somewhat.

KLCD liked to keep their late shifts live, exactly opposite of most radio stations. But audiences seemed to like that live connection: they could call in, make a request, share news as it was happening. Iola put on her headphones, and as the previous song was fading out she flicked her mic live, dropping into “character.”

“Just because it’s Tuesday, that doesn’t mean we can’t get close and personal. It’s when it’s unexpected that it’s really special. So here’s some music to get close and …
Tuesday
with each other.”

She brought the next song up full-strength. She leaned back in her office chair, stretching her arms over her head. As she brought them down she jumped and swiveled around to face the far corner, heart suddenly racing from the sudden jolt of what she thought was a man standing in the corner. The adrenaline spiked immediately through her system, but she checked the dim corners of the room and saw no trace of the figure that had startled her.

She gave an embarrassed chuckle and tried to turn back to the computer, but a cold feeling trailed along her neck, forcing her to turn back to the corners behind her. Still, nothing was there.

This time she didn’t laugh. Something was very wrong here.

Iola got up and strode across the room with great purpose. She flicked all the overheard lights on, including the fluorescents that seemed far too bright after she’d been sitting under the dimmed pot lights.