Angel Heart
The excited babble of female voices floated down the hall toward Gideon. He turned and faced the wall, then pulled a mop from the cleaning cart and began running it over the already shiny floor, pretending to clean.
What are they doing here?
The academy didn’t open for classes until this evening. The institution was still officially closed for the holidays.
As two girls neared, he tugged the brim of his cap down over his forehead, keeping his head low as he continued to mop. They walked by without even a glance in his direction, too lost in their own self-important chatter. Maintenance men were invisible, especially janitors, which suited him just fine.
The girls soon disappeared around the corner, talking and giggling, totally oblivious to his presence.
“WELL DONE, MY CHILD.” Ealund’s translucent form floated across the floor, his ethereal beauty reflecting on the shiny black floor tiles.
With a quick glance to make sure the girls were gone, Gideon dumped the mop in the cart and pushed it toward his original direction. The incorporeal apparition glowed, his pellucid form surrounded by a silver-blue aura—and Gideon’s heart ached just looking upon such ethereal beauty. Ealund only showed himself to Gideon.
He was the image of angelic magnificence with waist-length gold hair floating around his head, pale flowing robes, and terrifyingly exquisite azure eyes—all that was missing were wings. And yet, Ealund’s presence of absolute and pure evil almost brought Gideon to his knees.
Apart from the girls, the hallways were deserted. He kept his head down and peered at the security camera in a corner just above a classroom door. They’d been set up everywhere around campus after the first murder several weeks ago, but he had the schematics and knew how to get around most of them.
“HURRY, MY CHILD,” Ealund intoned. “TIME GROWS SHORT.”
Gideon wheeled the cart to a stop and checked the corridor before pulling out the maintenance master key to unlock the heavy wooden door. With one last check, he entered and pulled the cart inside, silently closing and locking the door behind him. Anticipation bubbled up from the pit of his stomach; he wanted to feel the warm blood spilling over his fingers.
“SLOW DOWN,” Ealund’s rich voice echoed out of the surrounding air—the resonance deep and dark, sending a clammy chill across Gideon’s skin. “FOCUS, MY CHILD. FOCUS YOUR MIND AND LET ME GUIDE YOU.”
Gideon nodded and slipped off his shoes, taking deep calming breaths as he placed them in the cart alongside his backpack. He wiggled his toes in the thin rubber-soled slippers he’d worn like socks in his shoes.
“HE’S HERE.” Ealund sniffed the air. “AHH, THE SWEET SMELL OF DELICIOUS YOUTH.”
The musky, almost feral scent of a prime young male overpowered the stuffy odor of books and knowledge. Gideon stashed the cleaning cart behind the row of bookshelves nearest the door and moved quietly through the maze, guided by the sound of off-tune whistling.
The rhythmic squeak of a book cart’s wheels stopped in a row ahead. Gideon flattened his back against the end of a bookcase and then carefully peered around the corner. The boy was tall, much taller than the others. His handcart was nearly empty. It wouldn’t be long now.
Gideon pulled back and leaned against the solid oak end of the shelving, his heart thundering in his chest—partly in fear of being caught and partly in excited anticipation. The hunt was almost as good as the catching. Almost.
Gideon’s mouth went dry and his cock hardened as it always did at this point. The hunt began. He closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated on slowing his breathing. The darkness settled the speed of his beating heart.
Again, the cyclic metallic squeaks of the book cart ruptured the deathly silence in the low-lit library. Gideon chanced another quick look.
“HE DOESN’T EVEN SENSE YOU.” Ealund sneered, his ghostly form floating out into the aisle between the bookcases. “THE RACES OF TODAY ARE SO WEAK.” It wasn’t the first time Ealund had said this.
The sound of wheels continued to get further away. Gideon hunched low and ran down a parallel aisle. The creaking ceased again as the boy stopped and picked up a book from the cart. He opened the cover and thumbed through a few pages, whistling the catchy little tune he’d begun earlier, then placed the tome on an upper shelf and moved on.
“Shit, missed one,” the youth cursed and Gideon heard his footsteps turning toward where he was hiding.
Gideon would be seen. He panicked, not knowing which way to go.
A loud bang shattered the still, semi-silence. With nerves splintered into a thousand pieces; he crouched ready for flight,his heart thundering so loud in his ears, he was sure the boy would hear it.
“What the . . . ?” The boy continued to mutter as he retreated back up the aisle.
“MOVE!” Ealund screamed in his head.
As always, Gideon did as Ealund said. In a crouched run, he returned to the opposite side of the row and flattened himself against the shelf end.
What was that? Gideon thought.
“A BOOK,” Ealund replied. “I HELPED IT OFF THE SHELF.”
His answer didn’t exactly comfort Gideon. If Ealund could make books fall, what else could he do? An ember of fear flared deep down, but Gideon quickly dashed it.
The whistling youth returned to the row Gideon had just left and placed the fallen book back on the shelf before moving to the next row over. Gideon was safe for the moment. He slowly expelled the breath he’d been holding. That was close, and foolish. He unclipped the small leather case attached to his belt and wrapped his already latex-covered fingers around the T-shaped handle of the custom-made push dagger. It fit comfortably between his middle and forefinger, the tiny detachable blade sticking out at a ninety-degree angle. The squeaky cart was moving back to his end of the far aisle and Gideon ducked behind the books again. Then the repetitive sound moved further away into the study area and stopped, followed by the scrape of a chair.
Finally, the moment he’d been waiting for. The boy was done shelving books. Gideon had observed this pattern for the past few days and knew that once the day librarian arrived, the boy would go home. His time frame was short, but long enough to do what he had to. His excitement rose.
The boy’s head came up, sniffing the air, and he glanced around. Gideon ducked lower behind the stacks. After what seemed like a heart-pounding eternity, the boy shrugged and bent his head over a book.
Gideon waited just a little longer. Careful not to touch the blade, he flexed and relaxed his fingers around the push-knife handle. When the boy seemed engrossed in his task, Gideon made his move.
He raced from behind the bookshelf on the balls of his feet, his footsteps light and silent. As if sensing something, the boy’s head began to rise but Gideon hit him from behind before he could turn, then slapped a hand over the boy’s mouth before slamming the push knife into the lower part of his neck, right between the C6 and C7 vertebrae. The weapon slid home and the blade detached, just as designed.
“PERFECT!” Ealund crowed.
It was perfect.
The boy tried to rise and stiffened—the silver blade had severed the spinal column. Gideon let him go and reached for the hunting knife tucked inside his janitorial coveralls. The boy folded, falling off the chair and landing on the floor with a heavy thud. His height was not much of an advantage now that he couldn’t stand.
Gideon sliced away a large part of the boy’s shirt and stuffed it in the victim’s mouth. Whether from shock or disbelief, the boy hadn’t called out. Yet. Once Gideon went to work, he would soon find his voice again.
“DON’T RUSH IT,” Ealund crooned as he floated toward the boy’s head. “YOU HAVE PLENTY OF TIME.”
But not forever. The day librarian would be here soon and Gideon needed to be long gone, yet he still had enough time to have a little fun first.
The boy crawled a few feet on his stomach, his arms having just enough strength to haul his paralyzed body a little. Gideon stalked after him and flipped him over onto his back. With his foot holding the boy’s right upper arm, he yanked at the forearm and felt the satisfying snap of the bones beneath. The gag muffled the boy’s screams. Gideon repeated the break on the left arm.
The realization that he was about to die dawned on the boy’s face, his features twisting in alarm. Gideon reveled in it.
Ealund’s chillingly beautiful ghostly features glowed a little more brightly as he fed on the boy’s terror. Gideon squatted over the victim and cut away the remains of the shirt before carving the marks into the boy’s heaving chest, then tilted his head to watch the scarring. The silver blocker in his neck not only stopped the boy from moving or transforming, it had slowed down the healing process. The scent of fresh blood tickled his nostrils and stoked the fiery lust in his groin. The arms had almost healed, so he rebroke them to new muffled screams from the boy.
The ghostly figure floated closer, his crystal blue eyes shining. “MORE,” he whispered into Gideon’s ear.
A shiver of lust danced up his spine. It wasn’t sexual—just the thirst for blood and pain. His skin flushed with heat as he held the knifepoint above the victim’s sternum.
“DO IT NOW.”
Gideon complied. The skin parted with ease under the blade he’d honed to a razor’s edge and he cut away at the flesh, the tip scraping against the bone beneath. Before the wound had a chance to heal, he dropped the knife, gripped the rib bones in his hands and heaved them apart. As they cracked and parted, hot blood hit him in the face and slashed crimson across book spines on a nearby shelf. The blood was almost as good as his prize, which lay nestled inside the victim’s chest, beating double time in terror.
“TAKE IT,” Ealund urged. “IT’S YOURS.”
Gideon wrapped his fingers around the organ, feeling the life-force through the pulsing beat. Then he lifted it from the safety of the rib cage, pulling it free of connecting valves and blood vessels. He watched life bleed from the boy’s horrified eyes as he stared at his heart in Gideon’s hands.
“CONSUME THE SOURCE OF HIS DESIRE. FEEL THAT POWER.” Ealund’s voice sounded deranged in his impatience. “DO IT NOW!”
The heart twitched its final beats as Gideon brought it to his lips. The flesh was silky and metallic, and sweetly marinated in desires of youth. The delicious hot juices ran down Gideon’s chin as he devoured the fresh, young heart.
“YES, YES,” Ealund crowed agained, holding out his arms in triumph, floating higher off the floor and seeming to grow more there—almost more solid.
Gideon finished. He stared down at the lump of bloody meat on the floor, no longer a boy, no longer a victim. Now he was nothing. All that he was, Gideon had consumed. He felt little for the male when it was alive, and even less now that it was dead.
“YOU DID WELL, MY CHILD,” Ealund intoned. “BUT I NEED MORE. AND SOON.” With those last words, the vision of Ealund dissipated, leaving Gideon alone.
But he was never really alone.
He grabbed the backpack from the cleaning cart and retrieved a large ziplock plastic bag from inside. With quick, well-practiced movements, he peeled off the blood-soaked coveralls, wrapped the hunting knife in it, and placed it in the plastic bag along with his feet coverings and cap.
He took from his pack another plastic bag with a dampened towel inside and wiped the remainder of the blood off his face and hands, then threw the rag in with the soiled clothing and sealed that bag shut.
He took the last plastic from his backpack, which contained a clean set of coveralls, socks, and cap and slipped them on. He walked around the library, wiping here and there, removing all traces of his presence until no evidence of him remained on any surface. With one last look around, he picked up his pack and placed it in the pushcart, then wheeled through the library door before locking up. He had five minutes before the day librarian was due. Wasn’t he in for a surprise today?
Gideon tugged on his cap to hide his face and moved off down the hall, slow and casual—whistling, as had the boy, the same tuneless melody.
A Bad Day
Kitt’s boot heels tapped lightly on the faux marble floor of the NYAPS campus main hall. Academy students were gathered in several groups, calling out and waving to one another, laughing and talking. It had been a while since she was a student, but she still remembered what it was like, and this time she’d be in front of the class. Kitt’s stomach rolled with nerves, and nausea made her skin prickle. The discomfort quickly passed, only to be replaced by growls of hunger.
She glanced at her watch. Maybe she could grab a quick bite from the cafeteria before going to her new office to prepare for class. There were several Animalians in the scattered groups, but none had the distinctive black and silver-white hair of a snow leopard.
Kitt could hear a bit of a buzz, people whispering in hushed tones and looking around in a guarded manner. But it was probably just a lot of first-day jitters. Like hers.
One last, quick scan of the faces didn’t reveal the twins, though Oberon had told her they’d spent the holidays with the pride on the reservation near the Adirondack Mountains. Maybe it was for the best she couldn’t find them; she wasn’t sure she was ready to meet them yet.
The twins.
What would she say to them? What would they say to her?
Her daughters. The children she couldn’t see because of the fallout with her people.
Except they weren’t children anymore. They were young women.
Kitt was passing the trophy case, where a number of people were standing, and saw front and center a shiny new trophy on display. She stopped to take a closer look. It belonged to the latest all-state Shadow-combat champion, Mark Ambrosia. Even she, who was usually too busy to keep up on current events, had heard of the young human sweeping the amateur Shadow-combat circuit by storm.
The trophy case was impressive. Lots of photos, medals, and trophies on display. Not surprising, the New York Academy had the well-earned reputation as one of the most prestigious institutions of its kind. Both the physical and academic achievements showed the merits of the programs offered here—and why she was thrilled to be the new lecturer of parahuman forensic pathology. As Kitt reached the elevators, she glanced down.
Oh no.
She transferred the heavy winter coat to her other arm and twisted to look at the thick globs of mud splattering the leg of her new trousers.
Just great.
As she punched the elevator button, she shifted the bag on her shoulder and the strap gave way, spilling the contents of her handbag over the floor. A few of the onlooking students snickered and her face heated. Embarrassment plus. She hoped none of these kids were taking her class later tonight.
“Having a bad day?” a male voice boomed from above and the looming shadow dropped.
It was great to see Oberon DuPrie’s friendly features smiling down at her. And she couldn’t help returning a smile as he helped her pick up the scattered belongings.
“You okay?” he asked, passing her a hairbrush.
“A bit nervous,” she admitted. “It’s my first time at the front of a classroom.”
He dumped the last of her things into the handbag sitting on the ground and swept her up in his huge arms. “Damn, it’s good to see you here, Kitt.”
“Oberon, put me down,” she squeaked with embarrassment, slapping at his massive arms of iron.
He set her back on her feet, his black knee-length leather coat creaking with the effort. “Now, is that any way to talk to the friend who helped you get this job?”
She sighed and looked up as his seven-foot frame loomed over her. “Sorry for taking my bad mood out on you. You know I love you like a brother, especially since . . .” She trailed off, not wanting to bring up Dylan’s murder. She was so sick of death. “Anyway, that does not stop you from being a pain in my ass.”
He leaned in, kissed her cheek, and beamed at her, though she caught the flash of sadness in his eyes. Dylan’s death had been just as hard on him. The three of them, along with her late husband Emmett, had been best friends from the time they were children.
“Thanks for your help,” she said.
“About that,” he said, his face growing serious. “I know your first class doesn’t start for quite a few hours. I could use your help with something first.” He scrubbed a massive hand across his goateed chin.
A bad sign.
Premonition tightened the skin on her face. “What’s happened?”
“Come to my office and I’ll show you.” The elevator doors opened at that moment and he ducked his large dreadlocked head to enter the now seemingly small car.
After spilling her early evening coffee all over her pajamas, getting mud all over her nice, new slacks, and embarrassing herself with the handbag incident, how much worse could the night get?
She was torn. She didn’t feel nearly as prepared for giving her first lesson as she should, which is why she’d come in early in the first place. But it was Oberon asking and she did owe him.
Kitt sighed. “All right, but I need plenty of some time to prepare for class.”
“Sure,” he said and swiped an ID card across a panel, then hit one of the red buttons on the bottom row under the Staff Only sign.
The elevator descended. Most of NYAPS was underground. It helped to accommodate the more nocturnal of the student body. The buildings had been a secret Aeternus stronghold before the CHaPR Treaty, but now it was used as a center for knowledge for both humans and parahumans.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” she said as they descended.
“I’m amazed you didn’t hear about it on the news,” he said, not looking at her. “Or at least run into it on the way in.”
“Actually I did see quite a crowd when I arrived, so I used the side entrance to avoid them.”
He looked down at her. “There’s been a murder here on campus.”
“Oh no, you don’t, Oberon,” Kitt said, shaking her head. “I’m not the chief medical examiner anymore.”
“I really need your help. It will only take a couple of hours. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t really important.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and bent his large head closer. “Please.”
Damn him. How could she resist now? He’d used the P word. Something he didn’t do very often.
The elevator came to a stop and opened onto a lounge with worn stuffed chairs, low tables, and a pot of imitation gruel dressed as coffee warming on the counter. Totally functional, but not exactly welcoming. A few security-guard types sat around talking, drinking coffee or reading the paper.
“Hey, captain,” the guard behind the security desk said.
“Tom,” Oberon replied and placed his right palm against the hand-shaped panel on the wall. There was a snick, a beep, and then the red-lit panel turned green.
“Facimorphic test,” he said and indicated she step forward. “Anyone who comes into this office must do it.”
Kitt had undergone the test many times before; it was standard security in most government institutions. As always, she jumped when the needle pricked her palm.
The guard nodded to them as Oberon opened the door marked Chief of Security. Inside was fairly typical and innocuous—not exactly Oberon’s style. He moved behind his desk and grinned as he gripped the edge. Something buzzed and a portion of the wall slid aside, revealing a circular stairwell.
“Come on,” he said. “This way.”
They descended into an open-plan modern office surrounded by glassed offices and meeting rooms. The place was all leather, chrome, and glass; quite a stark contrast to the lounge.
“Welcome to the Bunker,” Oberon said, shrugging off his coat as he entered and hung it on a coatrack.
The carpet muffled his heavy shit-kicker boots. He looked like a bouncer at a biker strip club with his black leather coat, Iron Maiden heavy metal T-shirt, black jeans, and thick black studded belt with a large Harley-Davidson buckle. The tribal swirls and points of his scarification were clearly visible on his bare arms.
“Captain, your hot chocolate.” The friendly face of Antonio Geraldi beamed at Kitt as he handed Oberon a tall takeout cup. “With extra marshmallows—just the way you like it.”
It looked tiny in Oberon’s massive ham fist. “Thanks.”
The yellow parahuman-friendly lights glowed off Tones’s shaven head as he came over and gave Kitt a hug. She hadn’t seen him since he’d worked with Oberon and Dylan at the Violent Crimes Unit.
“How are you, Tones?” Kitt said. “And is that a cinnamon latte I smell?”
Tones grinned. “I knew you were coming in today and picked up your favorite.”
“Oh my God, I can’t believe you remembered. I see you’re as thoughtful as always,” Kitt said, surprised.
He tucked in his chin and dropped his voice. “Someday you’ll make some lucky female a good wife.”
Tones’s impression of Oberon was so spot on she almost snorted her latte all over his Converse All Stars. And Oberon gave a good-natured grumble as he leaned his bulk against the nearby table.
The Aeternus male, Tones, was dressed in his usual attire: a pair of designer jeans and a mustard yellow T-shirt bearing the message kittens are people too. For as long as she’d known him, he’d worn shirts with slogans espousing the ideas of a card-carrying member of Parahumans Against Animal Abuse. She was so glad he was working here. It certainly made starting the new job a little less daunting knowing her friends were around.
A woman with Nordic blond hair stepped forward. Though she looked familiar, Kitt just couldn’t place where they’d met before. She wore a dark gray Prada suit over a white T-shirt with a pair of extra-dark sunglasses perched atop her head, which left her deep emerald green eyes visible. On any other woman the outfit may have looked a little pretentious, but on her it just looked . . . lethally professional.
“Kitt, this is Antoinette Petrescu,” Oberon said.
The hand Kitt extended stilled, then shook, and she could feel her smile sliding away before she could catch herself. She greeted the newcomer with a rather weak, “Hello.”
This was the woman responsible for her brother’s death, albeit indirectly. Still, the shock of meeting Antoinette face-to-face for the first time since Dylan’s murder was not something she had yet prepared herself for. She took a deep breath and, before she dropped it, placed her coffee cup on a nearby table. This was just enough time to pull herself back together.
“Oberon, didn’t tell you, did he?” the female Aeternus said.
“No, he didn’t.” Kitt shot Oberon a narrowed glare. “I’m sorry—it’s just the shock. I wasn’t expecting to meet . . .”
“I understand,” Antoinette said with an awkward little smile.
Oberon’s eyes rose to look over Kitt’s shoulder and his brow creased into a deep frown.
Kitt sensed him long before she saw him. Her whole world bottomed out, taking all the air in the room with it. Her heart leapt into her throat and began beating double time, filling her ears with its racing boom-tha-boomp rhythm. She’d last seen him just over eighteen years ago and wasn’t ready yet. She closed her eyes, still not daring to look at him.
“Raven.” It came out in a hushed expelling of breath, as if even her voice was afraid to give him form.
As she turned, she opened her eyes. And there he was—just as she remembered—dangerous in every sense of the word. Her pulse quickened, just like it did in the old days.
He leaned against the edge of a desk, his crossed arms stretching the sleeves of a black T-shirt over his flexed biceps and a scar that sliced through his right eyebrow and continued under his eye only enhancing his lethal charm. He hadn’t changed a bit—at least not physically. The same devastating sense of danger that had drawn her to him all those years ago was still there.
“Hello, Kitten,” he said, his dark-rimmed pale blue irises ripping through eighteen years of carefully constructed barriers to lay bare her soul again.
She swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump that formed in her chest and stopped her breath. She spun on Oberon—right now, she could not claim him as her friend. No—a friend would’ve told her that her ex-lover had returned.
Oberon self-consciously rubbed his chin and jaw and avoided meeting Kitt’s eyes. “You were supposed to stay out of sight,” he said to Raven.
This night was deteriorating faster than a snowman in the sun. “You could’ve said something,” she whispered.
“I asked him not to,” Raven said. “Not until you were settled in here. But when I heard your voice, I just couldn’t stay away, Kitten.”
“You have no right to call me that anymore.” It sounded a lot calmer than she felt. “What are you doing here?”
“I gave him a job,” Oberon said.
“You did what?” she said, incredulous.
The ursian just shrugged. She had the sudden need to be as far from Oberon and her ex-lover as possible. “What did you need me to do?”
“I’d like you to go with Antoinette to the medical examiner’s office and find out what’s going on. You know what to look for—I need to know if this body is the same as the last one.”
“Shit, Oberon, I resigned from there a couple of weeks ago. They’re not going to just let me walk in and look at a body.” Kitt could sense Raven’s eyes on her. Her skin heated.
“I’m trying to find out whether Tez is on tonight or not, but she’s not taking my calls.” Oberon’s frown deepened. “If anyone asks, say you’re there to pick up some stuff you left behind.” Her late brother’s best friend took a huge swig from his cup.
“Why don’t we just wait for the report to be released?” Antoinette asked.
Dylan had said she was quick, and Kitt could see why he’d admired her.
“Firstly, Kitt performed the autopsy on the first victim and knows the case, and secondly”—Oberon’s fists clenched—“that fucking little prick, Neil Roberts, has frozen VCU out, and if the head of the Violent Crime Unit is interested, then there’s something big going down and I want to know what it is.”
Kitt was well versed on what Oberon thought of his ex-boss. She’d heard it so many times she could almost recite it word for word from memory.
Suddenly the room spun, her legs trembled, and she actually felt the blood drain from her face, leaving a pricking sensation in its wake. She felt nauseous and her temples pounded. She’d tried to keep Raven from her thoughts, especially since he’d brought the twins back to mind, but now here he was, standing right in front of her in living color and all she could think of was getting out of there.
“Are you okay?” Antoinette asked, reaching out for her.
Kitt felt disoriented and roughly shook off the female’s suffocating touch, pushing away the overly attentive hands. She needed air—
A large dog raced forward, growling and snapping. Kitt dropped to a crouch, her inner cat coming out to protect her. Before she could stop herself, she hissed at the animal and the change prickled along her limbs as white and silver fur sprung through the pores of her skin.
As the animal leapt, a black blur solidified between her and the snapping jaws and took on the full brunt of the attack. The malamute’s snarling maw clamped down on Raven’s forearm and the dog shook its head from side to side, worrying the flesh. Kitt heard teeth scrap on bone a split second before the dog’s sharp canine incisors opened an artery in Raven’s wrist and fresh hot blood splashed her face.
