Shadow Born: A Joseph Hunter Novel: Book 1 (Joseph Hunter Series) Page 4

  She picked up the plastic and handed it over. Her green, hungry eyes never left mine. I crumbled the plastic into a ball and stuffed it in my pocket, then retreated back to the corner of her small cell.

  “Thank you,” she said, grinning—her teeth bloodied. “Joseph, right?”

  “The one and only,” I confirmed.

  She giggled. “You are as handsome as they say. If you are tired of living in a decaying body, I would love to experience you.”

  I coughed. “Well,” I said, reeling for a retort, “thank you for the compliment. I’m always accepting hot air to inflate my ego, but, I’m sorry—I’ll have to pass on your offer. But believe you me, it’s tempting.”

  She grinned. “You know where to find me, if you change your mind.”

  “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Sometimes,” she said, “it’s better that way.”

  I sniffled, wiping an arm across my nose. “You’ve met my friend?”

  “Detective Shells?” she asked, leaning back against her pillow, stretching the white fabric of her nightgown tight across her body. “He can join us, too.”

  “Oh, no,” I said, knowing Xander was listening. “He wouldn’t be much fun. No humor, no desire to experiment. He’s a missionary, a servant to God, through and through. Also,” I held my finger and thumb close together, “small, from what I hear.”

  “I hear that you’re worth two men.”

  “You’ve been talking to straight liars,” I said, shaking my head. I hadn’t slept with a woman in seven years, not since Callie’s death. But I enjoyed the vampire’s compliments, so I played along. I did have to get back on topic, though—unfortunately. “Did I hear you right? Did you call him Detective Shells? That what they call him these days?” I placed my chin on my fist, as if in thought.

  “Is that not what he is?”

  I shrugged and shook my head. I knew him as much worse. Should I tell her that? “Don’t know,” I said, pushing myself off the wall and ambling toward her. It’s amazing how comfortable I felt with her. I could have sat down beside her, had I wanted to. To tell you the truth… I did want to. But part of me knew better—knew that she held an empathic link between us and she massaged it to calm me, to pull me in, to weaken me. “He showed up at my house today. I haven’t seen him in… oh, five years. Said he showed you this.” I glanced at the picture of my wife before handing it to her. The image of Callie anchored me against the steady current the vampire was using to drown me. “Xander mentioned that you knew something about her murder. That you would only speak to me about it.”

  The woman held the picture. Her hands trembled slightly. For a moment, she stared at the image and didn’t say a word. She set the photograph on the bed and looked at me. “Sit here… by me,” she said.

  At her command, a sudden force willed me even closer to her. I wanted nothing more than to sit by her and hold her face and kiss her and run my hands over the thin, transparent fabric that barely covered her skin. I refused the urge, though, refused to obey her transfixing magic.

  “Why did you call me here?” I asked, gritting my teeth with the effort of not sitting on her bed. “Why today?” But she had just shown her hand, allowing me to glimpse the answer to my question. The vampire wanted me dead. She had tried to charm and ensnare and control me, to kill me. “Who sent you here?”

  The magnetism faded as I resisted her. She frowned at me—a child pouting. “You are extremely powerful,” she muttered. “Do you know that?”

  My fingers itched to grab the stake and shove it through her heart—that part the legends got right. Like killing any human, shove a stake or a dagger or shoot a bullet through a vampire’s heart or face, they will die. Problem was identifying the creatures—usually only possible in their starved state, when they looked like your creepy, Great Uncle Herb—and then getting your weapon through their skin. It became scaly and hard, nearly impossible to penetrate. Again, that’s what she said.

  So, the easiest way to kill a vampire was to identify it, then kill it while in its human form.

  In my moment of indecision, wherein I considered killing her out of anger and impatience alone, I briefly missed my old profession. I recalled why I’d loved it before—monsters were arrogant pricks who followed their own rules. Whatever sentimental thoughts I had earlier about M.I.S. fell apart. I saw her for what she was—a vampire, a monster who felt or knew nothing but lust and hunger.

  “Tonight, three hours before midnight—”

  “Just say nine,” I said, annoyed. “I understand nine o’clock.”

  She frowned at me. “Three hours before midnight, you will attend a meeting.”

  “Will I?”

  “If you want to know what happened to your wife, you will. The one responsible for your loss will be there.” The vampire showed her bloodied teeth again, then lay on her back and stared at the ceiling.

  “Where is the meeting?” I asked.

  “Parking garage on Third and K Street. Basement level.”

  I chewed on my lip, fighting against the urge to drive the stake through her dead, un-beating heart. I also tempered myself from using my magic. If I reached into my abilities, I could discern whether she was lying to me or not. But I had sworn off my power. Using it could create a type of aura discernible to other magic users—an aura that would expose me and possibly expose Mel. I couldn’t take that risk.

  I had to take the vampire at her word.

  “If you’re lying to me,” I said. “I’ll bypass Hades and Lucifer, and I’ll personally see to your damnation. We clear?”

  “As blood, Mr. Hunter.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” I said, exiting her cell and slamming the door behind me.

  Xander wore a scowl. “How did it go?”

  “I hate vampires, that’s how it went,” I muttered. “Clear your schedule, though. We have a meeting tonight.”

  4

  “You still know how to work one of those things?” Xander asked, nodding to the Glock 17 in my hand. He had offered me the weapon before we left the monster prison-slash-detective agency. Also, since I had refused to dig up my rune-inscribed guns, Xander figured I should probably have some kind of protection before stepping into a meeting conducted by a supernatural being.

  We sat in the cab of a run-down Honda, a company car meant to blend in, much like his office building, and we waited outside the Sacramento garage for the clock to register nine o’clock—or three hours before midnight, for you sex-crazed immortals. The interior of the car smelled like energy drinks and cigarettes, and sunflower seeds littered the floorboards. A light rain pattered onto the windshield, though a sliver of moonlight beamed across the November sky, hopefully teasing that the weather would clear. I lived in California for a reason—rain and Joseph Hunter didn’t go well together.

  I studied the Glock 17 by the scant moonlight. Part of my pact with Hephaestus was to serve in the United States Military—position classified. During that time, I had coated my weapons with runes. Like other magic, activated runes left a unique aura that any trained magic user could identify and possibly follow. That was the main reason I had buried my guns, to hide their magical properties from anyone who might be searching for me.

  Xander had not only provided me with a gun, but he had equipped me with a hunting dagger and an armored jacket. Everything was normal, no rune inscriptions marred the armor or the weaponry. The ordinary world—or the world as most people called it—didn’t believe that it shared its existence with cursed and blessed humans and the Nephil. One of the implied pact rules, when a Nephil grants a human with their power, is to keep their magic secret from the world. The power can only be used to serve their patron, and never, under any circumstances, for individual fame or fortune. Or, in my case, vendettas.

  Besides, only Acolytes of certain Nephil, such as Hephaestus, could enchant inanimate objects. So, the absence of magic imbued in Xander’s gun didn’t surprise me, but it did make me feel vulnerable. A full vampir
e, one who has fed recently, is more likely to die by a normal bullet—though more likely doesn’t mean likely. A starving vampire, one who hasn’t eaten and has devolved from their human form into a monster, would barely feel a normal bullet if it somehow, miraculously penetrated the creature.

  “I know how to work it,” I said, turning my attention back to Xander. “Question is, will this thing work against a Cursed?”

  Xander leaned back against the headrest and grinned. “Hollow points are filled with silver dust. It won’t kill something cursed, but it’ll hurt them. How’s it feel?”

  I popped the magazine and checked the rounds, counting ten, and I shook my head. Though Xander had the ability go above California gun laws because of his past and current career, he still chose to follow the restrictions. After sighing and clicking the magazine back in place, I adjusted in the seat so I could fit the Glock in a side holster near my hip. “It feels…” I grinned, “like holding a woman after a long time away.”

  “Squirmy?” Xander asked, glancing at me, his lips curled up. I didn’t understand the joke, but that’s the thing about the celestial pacts. The Guardian Angels—yeah, I know it’s a clever name—are about as funny as a box of tacks. Which means not funny at all.

  I snickered out of politeness to his ego. “Right as rain, baby.”

  “Right as rain, huh?” Xander asked, repeating my answer and shaking his head. “Joey Hunter, always the romantic.”

  I had personally lost track of our conversation, but apparently Xander knew what was happening, so I continued to play along. “I watched too many princess movies growing up,” I said, shrugging. “I can’t help but feel the love every night.”

  That shut him up for a solid two minutes. Rain fell on the windshield in light titters. A gust of wind occasionally slapped against the side of the car. I started to get fidgety, waiting and doing nothing, and three hours to midnight was my usual shot of Makers time. The thirst was coming on strong.

  Xander cleared his throat. “How many women since Callie?”

  I frowned, glaring at him. Xander had never beat around the proverbial bush. He was more the type to grit his teeth and lower his head and charge headfirst into a subject. Me, on the other hand, I beat a rut around that damn plant. “What do you mean?”

  “Seriously? You’re avoiding the question?” he asked, finding some long-lost humor and spreading those pursed lips into a light grin. I didn’t find anything humorous about his question.

  I stared into the wet night. Streetlights cut into the darkness and illuminated beads of raindrops. Wet leaves clung to the asphalt and hugged the base of the parking garage. No cars drove through the empty street Xander had taken the time to cordon off. The night belonged to us and the bad guys. I could barely contain my excitement.

  “I went on some dates,” I said, gripping my wedding ring.

  That was the truth, but what Xander didn’t need to know was that I never formed a connection with any of the women. None of them compared to Callie. To force some type of intimacy, I went home with three different women over the past seven years. We had watched movies until I passed out on the couch, and then I had waken up a few hours later to a cold spot beside me. I also hadn’t bothered to take my wedding ring off on those dates—which goes to show you the caliber of person those women had been.

  I shook my head, not really wanting to delve into my lonely, depressing love life. “I go on a date about every night with Palmela. You know her, right? Palmela Handerson?” I leaned across the center counsel and whispered, “She puts out every… single… time.”

  Xander chewed on his lip and nodded slightly. I didn’t know what ran through his mind. Did he judge me? Did he sympathize with me? Feel bad, because I couldn’t move past my wife’s death even after seven years, because I wouldn’t allow myself to connect with another human being?

  “Does it feel like your betraying her?” he asked, taking me off guard and continuing the conversation. “Is that why you avoid meeting someone new?”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that—because honestly, I’d never reflected on why I had never dated after Callie. So, naturally, I went with banter. “Call me old fashioned, but I’m not a one-night guy, my friend. I need substance. I need consistency. You wouldn’t take a brand new weapon—something you’ve never shot—into battle, would you? It has to be reliable, trusted. It has to feel right.”

  “You know she’s dead? And no matter what answer you get tonight, no matter who killed her, no matter if you kill them… she’s still dead.”

  I grabbed the seatbelt and squeezed it in my hands. My teeth clenched together, and my entire face turned to stone. “Fuck that, man. Maybe killing those bastards is exactly what the doctor ordered. Maybe after bathing in their blood I can finally feel clean again and move on.”

  Xander licked his lips. “Well,” he said, placing a hand on my shoulder, “I’m here for you, Joe. If you ever need to talk.”

  “Yeah?” I asked, allowing myself to fall into my favorite pastime—poking at Xander in a nonsexual and mostly verbal way. My expression remained stoic. “I want to talk right now. Like, a serious talk.” I adjusted in my seat and faced him. “Tell me, my friend, when was the last time for you? Or are you still aiming for your lifetime goal of celibacy? Or do you avoid women like the plague because you are…” I paused to build suspense, placing a palm over my mouth and inhaling sharply with feigned surprise. Added to Xander’s many great dating qualifications—his hairline, his lack of humor, his top secret job—were his politics and theology. Old boy was a staunch republican and a strict Christian. He couldn’t say the words ‘gosh darn’ without blushing.

  My insinuation that his sexual orientation swung toward the same sex had the desired effect. Xander straightened in his chair, all high and fucking mighty, and he crossed his arms and curled his lips. “We’ve been over this, and you know—“

  I smirked, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing, growing solemn once more. “It’s okay, man. You don’t have to hide from me. I’m here for you and I accept you as you are. If you ever need to talk. If you ever need support. I’m here.”

  Xander leaned sideways in the seat and rested his head against the driver’s window. “Did you even try?” he asked, reverting the subject back to me. “To build a real relationship? To actually talk to someone and move on?”

  I had lost five years of picking on Xander’s archaic opinions and belief systems, and I wanted to keep ribbing him. For now, though, I decided to back off. Maybe he could eventually come around to the idea that the world had moved on from 1457, but I didn’t think this was the time. Maybe after our little rendezvous with the baddies, we could hit a bar and I could convince him of that very possibility—me drunk as skunk, him sober as a… I don’t know what rhymes with sober—but he would be that sober.

  “I went on two real dates,” I said.

  Fucking October! He would be sober as October, because that makes sense. Don’t you dare question me on it.

  “So, you live in the middle of nowhere for five years. You’re not hunting monsters, and you’re not hunting for a meaningful relationship. What are you doing—other than demolition?”

  I scratched my throat, lifting my chin and facing the roof. “Hunting a buzz, most of the time.”

  “Wallowing in your pain? Drinking away your sorrow? Following Mel from the shadows, making sure she’s safe?”

  Ah, there was that vindictiveness that I loved so much about him. There he went, stepping up on that soapbox and preaching to a dead congregation. I glanced at the dashboard clock. Fifteen minutes till nine. “You going in with me, or you going in late?” I asked.

  “Late.” Xander sat upright. “I’ll arrive when they’re set up and focused on you—make sure it’s not a trap. Step in if I’m needed.”

  We sat in silence for a minute, the radio off, the engine off—only the misty rain keeping us company. Back in our military days, I used to joke that Xander was a vampire—sucking the
life out of every room he entered. It had felt less and less like a joke as the night wore on.

  “Mel doesn’t know about me,” I finally said, fatigued by our meaningless back and forth. Besides, he had offered to listen to my bullshit. So, why not air out some of my laundry? “Doesn’t know I even exist. It’s the strangest feeling. Loving someone so much and they have no idea who you are. I watch her from the shadows like a fucking ghost. Sometimes she’ll look at me and that’s the worst. I’m nothing but a stranger to her. And she’s identical to Callie. It’s torture seeing her. It’s like seeing Callie and Mel wrapped into one person, knowing that they’re both so close and I’ll never be able to hold her.”

  Xander stared at me with sad eyes. “Is she happy with them?”

  I nodded. “Which also sucks. If I saw her sad or suffering, I would take her back in a heartbeat. And sometimes I look for an excuse to do just that, knowing I never can.” I inhaled sharply and teased the idea of switching subjects back to Xander’s sexual orientation—just to see that archaic squirm. “I talked to her one time.”

  “You did what?” His mouth fell open, and he rubbed his forehead.

  “Years ago,” I said. “I had to hear her voice. I couldn’t help myself.” I closed my eyes and remembered the day a couple years ago. I had followed her and Marie into the grocery store after having watched them exit the car and cross the street holding hands. “They went shopping. Before I knew it, I had followed them into the store. I mean, why the fuck not? I was just another customer needing beer and popcorn.” I fell silent for a second, recalling the details—the way her hair had bounced on her shoulders, the popsicle stains on her hands. “She strayed away from Marie and to the cereal aisle. We both stood there staring at colorful boxes. I couldn’t not say something. I couldn’t just not say a word. I asked her about her favorite cereal. Cheerios, she said. Fucking Cheerios.” I chuckled.