Eater of Lives(SPECTR #4) (2 page)

Why did Forsyth want to come along? Oh, John
understood his interest in Gray—Forsyth headed up the Non-Human
Entity Response and Research Division. RD might never have a chance
like this again. But this sort of fieldwork must be way below
Forsyth’s pay grade. Why not send someone else on this expedition
as an observer? Especially since RD wasn’t even headquartered in
Charleston?

Worrying about it wouldn’t do any good. He
just needed to focus on the case.

“Here’s the rundown,” he said. The windshield
wipers slapped rhythmically back and forth, and he silently hoped
the rain stopped before they got out and hiked. “A bird watcher
came across the first set of remains last week. Cut marks on the
skeleton indicated someone using a knife and a meat cleaver had
largely defleshed the body. Additionally, the killer severed the
arms and legs using a cleaver, and either kept them or dumped them
elsewhere.”

“Christ,” Caleb muttered from the back. “Are
we sure this isn’t just a ghoul’s leftovers? You know, stolen from
a morgue or cemetery or what have you?”

“The victim has a perimortem injury to the
skull, across the face, inconsistent with defleshing. The cut marks
match those made by the knife, so it seems likely it to have been
made when the killer was subduing the victim. It may also have been
an attempt to dehumanize the victim.” That was a common motive
behind facial wounds, and the fact the killer took the limbs but
left the skull behind made John think she didn’t want any reminders
her victim used to be a person.

“Alright,” Caleb said slowly. “But couldn’t
it just be some sicko, then?”

“Would a human serial killer really be a
better alternative?”

Caleb’s leather coat creaked as he folded his
arms over his chest. “No. I guess not.”

“Is there any evidence linking the death to
an NHE?” Forsyth asked.

“Not directly. But the bones have human tooth
marks on them. The killer probably ate as much as possible on site,
before setting to work with the knife, in order to take the rest
home. The gnaw marks appear to belong to an adult human female. The
remains belong to an adult male, probably Caucasian, between
twenty-five and thirty-five years of age.” John glanced up from the
folder. “It’s not impossible an unpossessed woman killed him, ate
him, and carted his head and torso into the swamp for disposal. But
it would be an extremely unusual crime for a woman to commit.”

“True,” Forsyth agreed. “Female serial
killers generally use other methods. Killing, eating, and
dismembering victims is almost always a male trait when NHEs aren’t
involved.”

“Go us,” Caleb muttered.

“Any idea as to the identity of the victim?”
Sean asked.

“He’s been tentatively identified as Roger
Lynch of Columbia, SC. Lynch’s family reported him missing the week
before last, when he failed to report to work or answer phone
calls. Lynch matches the general description, although they’re
still waiting on dental records for confirmation. According to his
family, he’d met a woman online and they were planning on getting
together here in Charleston. The Columbia police took his computer
for evidence, and are supposed to be shipping it to us.”

“Not much to go on,” Sean groused, as he
pulled off on a smaller road leading into the National Forest. The
wet pavement sang beneath the SUV’s tires.

“Not yet,” John corrected. “With any luck,
this new body will be fresh enough to at least confirm the
involvement of an NHE.”

Caleb hunched into his coat and glowered.
John felt a flash of guilt—they shouldn’t be riding around the
countryside, taking advantage of Gray’s NHE-finding abilities. They
ought to be back at HQ, working day and night to find a way to
exorcise Gray before it really was too late.

If he followed through with his plan,
exorcised Gray, then “accidentally” dropped the bottle to release
the drakul back to his old life of hunting demons from inside a
corpse…this might very well be his last case. Even if he didn’t get
caught, even if an empath didn’t ferret out his guilt, Kaniyar
might stick him behind a desk for such a mistake.

Sean pulled into the gravel parking lot. A
woman in a Forest Service uniform waited beside a sign indicating
the lot served an “interpretive trail” in the swamp.

John took off his seatbelt and climbed out
into the rain. If this was his final case, he’d do his best to
solve it.

Caleb trailed after the rest of the group as
they penetrated the swamp. Fog drifted between the enormous live
oaks, and Spanish moss trailed from their branches like the hair of
old women. Canals stretched off through the dark tangle of trees,
birds flushing in droves as they tromped past. One of the signs
said the “swamp” had begun its existence as a rice plantation,
which explained the unnaturally straight waterways. God, between
the heat and the mosquitoes in high summer, this must have been
hell on earth for the slaves who’d worked it two centuries ago.

“Here we are,” the Forest Service woman said;
Caleb hadn’t caught her name. They’d only gone a short distance
from the parking lot, and a few hundred yards off the trail at
most. But with the dark waters of the canals all around, and the
sucking mud and dense vegetation, he could barely believe anyone
found the body in the first place.

Forensics had beat them there, secured the
scene, photographed it, and generally done everything other than
disturb the remains. A group of techs stood off to one side,
smoking and shivering in the rain.

A human skull, with a shock of dark hair
still attached, grinned at them from a stand of marsh grass. Bits
of flesh and tendon clung to it despite the work of scavengers, and
Caleb’s stomach turned over. He tried to watch from a distance, but
John beckoned to him impatiently.

“Caleb? Do you smell anything?”

“No.”

“
Of course we do. Cold water, and rotting
leaves, and cigarette smoke, and—”

But no demons.

Sadness.
“No. No demons.”

“Come closer and take a whiff of the body.
Maybe there’s some trace left on it.”

Oh God. John wanted him to sniff a corpse?
How had his life turned into such a freak show?

No. No, he could do this. Steeling himself,
Caleb walked closer.

As before, the arms and legs seemed to be
missing; at least, he didn’t see any long bones sticking out of the
muck. The pale column of spine, still held together with tendon and
ligament and rags of slimy flesh, and the bowl of the pelvis, lay
half-sunken into the mud. The ribs were folded back, ragged and
splintered, as if something ripped them open to get at the organs
inside.

“Nothing. I think it’s been too long,” he
said.

“What about the ribs?” Forsyth asked,
gesturing.

“With the first body, the ribs were cut open
to get to the heart and lungs,” John answered.

“So this indicates an escalation.”

“Not necessarily,” Sean said. “Most people
don’t know it, but deer will chew the fuck out of bones. Especially
long bones and ribs—they’ll gnaw the ends off. If the ribs were
already coming loose, deer might have done the damage. Forensics
will have to take a closer look to be sure.”

“Really?” Forsyth looked impressed. “I had no
idea, Agent McNamara.”

John nodded approvingly at Sean. “Good point.
Well, Caleb? Do you need to get closer? Maybe there’s a trace on
the bones?”

Oh hell no, he was not getting down on all
fours like a dog and sniffing a bunch of slimy bones. He could
already smell the putrid odor of decay rolling off it in waves.

“
Why not?”
Excitement buzzed under
their skin.
“Perhaps it is a demon for us to hunt.”

We still won’t be able to track it.

“
No, but we will recognize it
later.”

“Fine,” Caleb muttered. Outnumbered in his
own damn head; this had to be a new low. No, wait, spitting pasta
pomodoro on Sean’s date ranked a little lower. Just not by
much.

Feeling like a complete idiot, he squatted
down by the remains. The skull leered at him, its cap of hair
looking like a horribly realistic toupee. No way was he sticking
his face near the skull, so he bent over the shattered ribs,
lowered his head, and inhaled.

Bile rose, and he lurched back just in time
to barf in the canal instead of on the crime scene. Fucking hell,
it reeked: rotting tissue and dank mud, and how could a ghoul or an
incubus smell better than this thing?

“
Because they are food. This is…simply
rot.”
It felt like a tiger had stepped in something nasty, and
now tried to shake it off its paw.
“I do not care for it. It is
worse than John’s steak.”

Firm hands closed on his shoulders, their
warmth unable to penetrate the layers of elk hide and kevlar making
up his coat. “Caleb? Are you all right?” John asked worriedly.

“Yeah.” Caleb spat weakly, the taste of bile
still in his mouth. “No demon—NHE—scent here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Am I drooling or am I throwing up?” Caleb
snapped. “I’m sure, okay? An NHE might have killed him, but there’s
nothing left for Gray to pick up.”

“Okay.” John helped him up. “Why don’t you
wait over there, catch your breath for a few minutes?”

Caleb figured John wanted him out of the way
before he puked on the corpse. While John and the rest conversed,
he wandered farther down the path. A footbridge spanned the canal,
and he walked out onto it and paused. He stared blankly at the edge
of the forest and the host of twisted roots spanning the space
between canal and tree.

No. Wait. Those weren’t roots. They were
alligators.

“Fuck!” he said aloud, startled. He counted
them, but gave up when he reached fourteen. Fourteen alligators,
lying out in plain sight, and he hadn’t even realized it when he’d
looked the first time.

This had to be a metaphor for something. He
just didn’t know what.

“
Or perhaps they are simply
alligators.”

Yeah
. He sighed.
Maybe they
are
.

* * *

“We should know by tomorrow whether or not
the second victim’s ribs were torn open by the killer,” John said
as he unlocked the door to the condo. “And we’ll have the computer
records from Roger Lynch.”

Caleb stripped off his jacket as he followed
John inside. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Sure,” John said, a little puzzled. Caleb
had been unusually quiet all afternoon, ever since the incident at
the swamp. “Is everything all right?”

“Fine.” Caleb started for the stairs. “Are
you going to look at Brimm’s books tonight?”

John winced. Of course Caleb worried about
his exorcism being pushed to the bottom of the pile yet again.
“Yes. I think I might be onto something. Maybe we can do another
experiment at work tomorrow, in the exorcism room.”

The tight line of Caleb’s shoulder relaxed
slightly. “Oh. Good.”

“Do you want me to make dinner, or should I
just call out?”

“Up to you.”

“Okay.” He watched Caleb climb the stairs to
the next floor. “I love you.”

Caleb paused just before he disappeared,
ducking down and giving John a smile through the bars of the iron
railing. “Love you, too.”

John went to the refrigerator and pulled out
a beer. Caleb could be moody sometimes, but given his
circumstances, who wouldn’t be? His entire life turned upside down
after Gray possessed him. Caleb had just been an ordinary civilian
who’d never seen a dead body or a ghoul or anything of the sort.
Most people would have resorted to screaming or clawing at the
walls by now.

He sorted through the fridge, pulling out
ingredients for fajitas. They were trying something called tempeh,
which Caleb swore made delicious fajitas in place of beef or
chicken. Asking a vegetarian to move in with him had been John’s
big adjustment.

And Gray. But he couldn’t dwell to long on
the drakul, not after what happened on top of the lighthouse.

The sound of running water shut off at just
about the same moment as he turned the stovetop down to warm.
Humming to himself, he took a couple of store-bought tortillas out
of the fridge and layered them between damp paper towels to heat up
in the microwave. Just as they finished nuking, the doorbell
rang.

The hell? He wasn’t expecting anyone
tonight.

Even though his status as a SPECTR agent
meant his address wasn’t listed on a website like most of the
paranormally-abled, there was always the chance some nutjob had
figured out an exorcist lived in the condo. Neighbors tended to
gossip, after all.

His Glock hung in its holster on the
coatrack, beside his coat. Scooping it up just in case, he went to
the door and peered cautiously out of the peephole.

For a moment, he only stared, his heart
beating in his throat. Putting aside the Glock, he unlocked the
door and swung it open.

“Will?” he asked in confusion.

“In the flesh,” said his ex-boyfriend. Then
Will stepped inside, put his arms around John, and kissed him
soundly.

* * *

Caleb stood on the staircase, every muscle
locked.

He’d started down just as John opened the
front door, revealing an African-American man dressed in an
expensive suit. Caleb just had time to notice how hot the stranger
was, with his dark skin and long dreads, neatly tied back from his
strong-boned face, when the man slid his arms around John and
kissed him.

Gray surged up, right under his skin,
confusion and unhappiness accreting to the jealousy boiling out of
Caleb’s belly.
“John is ours! This other mortal—”

No!
Shit, he needed to shut this down,
but he didn’t know how, anger and jealousy turning into something
dangerous.