'Tween Heaven and Hell (6 page)

As I waited for the police I couldn’t help feeling that it
was still there, skulking amongst the thick, strangling shadows of the dark,
deserted church. Watching me patiently for a chance to strike.

Chapter S
ix

Things WORSE Than an Advocate?

It stalked the preacher every hour and every minute
knew,

That it would suck away his soul and rip his form in two.

Where Deaver’s foot ticked against the shade, a growing
smear of blood joined with the larger splatters that told the story of his
brutal death.

I flicked several switches on the wall next to the door
before I found the one for the fan. As Deaver’s body wound down slowly and
finally stopped spinning, I moved to stand next to the body. I took a deep
breath behind my hand and swallowed the bile that had risen into my throat.
Reluctantly, I realized I would have to try some holy water on the wounds, to see
if it would tell me who, or what, had hung this poor man from the ceiling and
ripped him savagely to death.

I reached into my pocket for the vial I’d placed there
before leaving home and my hand came away empty. I suddenly remembered that the
vial was probably a drying pool on the floor of that devil-filled warehouse by
now. As I had the thought, I glanced at the spot on my finger that had been
sliced by the breaking vial and, though it throbbed in remembered pain, the
small but deep slice was no longer visible. “Shit.”

I’d healed again in an amazingly short time. How had it
happened? I hadn’t used my power to heal it. My traitorous mind flashed the
memory of Dialle’s soft, hot tongue caressing away the blood from the wound and
I pushed the picture in my brain away quickly, feeling my face flush and my
body warm to the unwanted memory.

My eyes searched the office for another holy water source
and I was relieved to see a covered baptismal font off to one side of the desk.
I prayed it wasn’t in dry dock as I lifted the lid. My luck, for once, was
good. Reaching into the cool, clear liquid, I gathered up a small amount in the
palm of my hand and flung it on the gruesome mess that used to be Deaver. The
water spattered Deaver in the area of his the largest wound, which was located
in the spot where his stomach should have been. I wrinkled my nose and stepped
back as the liquid popped and sputtered and ate into the flesh around the
wound. The smell of cooking flesh assailed me as a thick, black carboniferous
smoke rose from the place where the holy water had touched the wound. The heavy
smoke stung my eyes and coated my airways.

No doubt about it, my preacher wasn’t killed by any human.
That narrowed it down a bit for me, but still left a short list of about a dozen
possibilities. I forced myself to step closer to Deaver and examine the wounds
on his body more closely.

His torso, which appeared to have borne the brunt of the
damage, was torn from just under his chin to just above his groin. The rips
appeared random, crisscrossing his unfortunate, white flesh with brutal
efficiency but with no apparent plan. They could have been inflicted by an
animal with large claws, except that I knew they were not the result of any
natural predator.

My mind unwillingly returned to the gargoyles on the roof
and I shivered as I again thought about the malevolent spirit I’d felt outside
the church. I suddenly realized that I had sensed the very creature that had
hacked Deaver to pieces. And that I’d been just a few steps behind it as it
completed its gruesome task.

* * * * *

The Strange Death Department of the police hadn’t been too
surprised when I’d called them. They’d dealt with me before. They weren’t wild
about the kind of business I always brought to them, but aside from the occasional
verbal attack from a cynical rookie, I was generally left alone now. Though it
had been a different story once. I guess even the cops couldn’t believe that
I’d be stupid enough to kill all those people and then keep calling them to
show them what I’d done. Besides, in the larger scheme of things we kind of
worked for the same boss didn’t we?

With a grimace on his face, Death Detective Raoul stood over
the mess that had once been my client. He shook his head with its short, brown
curls. Deaver’s body had been cut down and was lying in an unappealing puddle
on the floor. I watched the Death Detective’s square, masculine features twist
with disgust before he turned back to me. “Phelps, you have got to get a
different career assignment.”

I forced a smile. “Hey, we don’t get to choose what we do,
DD. You know that.”

He grimaced again and nodded. “Damned shame. I knew this
man. My aunt’s sister’s brother’s wife used to come to this church.” He grinned
a little guiltily and leaned closer, speaking softly so that only I could hear
him. “My aunt asked me to check him out before the woman joined. Don’t tell
anybody, I’m not supposed to run those kind of checks for my personal use.”

I grinned and drew a zipper across my lips.

“Anyway…” he straightened up and spoke in a normal tone
again, “I checked Deaver out and he was clean. Better than that, he’s been
strangely successful against the devils. Helped a lot of people out with what
he could do for them.”

A young, female cop handed Raoul a vacuum-sealed, clear bag
that contained the rope which had been around Deaver’s throat. She threw me a
frigid look as she handed it over. “This is the last of the physical evidence,
sir. We’ll get the body wrapped up and send it off to the lab for a full
sweep.” Once again her dark eyes swung my way and her pretty, pink lips
twisted. “You want me to escort this…person out of here?”

Raoul looked up from the bag and met my gaze. Being a death
detective, of considerable rank in the Strange Deaths department, he was no
stranger to the bigotry of others. Civilians and cops from the other
departments didn’t seem to understand the importance of the Strange Deaths
squad. Many of these cops liked to joke about dealing with fairy tale monsters
and the boogeyman and went about their lives thinking that, because they were
armed with street smarts, knowledge of the oriental fighting arts and laser
canister weapons, they had control over their own survival. By denying the
existence of all things spiritual and boogey, they could tell themselves that
they were on equal footing with the bad guys. What they didn’t know, they
somehow reasoned, couldn’t hurt them. Ironically, it had been just this narrow
type of thinking that had been the catalyst for creation of the Strange Deaths
Department of the police in the first place.

It had happened about twenty years ago, several years after
the Big War, when devils and demons and their various dependent sub-species had
been among us for several years already but had been cautious enough to stay in
the shadows and pretend they were still the stuff of grim fairy tales and
monster stories told over a crackling bonfire.

It had been this silent, hidden presence that had caused
humans to begin unknowingly taunting them and decrying their very existence. As
rumors of mutilations and strange killings began to move through the human
underground, the police and elite scholar-snobs merely scoffed and proclaimed
the degenerative effects of alcohol and drugs, which, along with cigarettes and
chocolate were no longer legal but which could still be purchased on the black
market if one knew where to look and had the means to purchase them.

This taunting served as bait to the spiritual world, which
had hungered to be recognized and given the fearful respect it felt it richly
deserved. So, gradually, the spirits left the filthy, malodorous underbelly of
humankind and moved into the limelight. They cast aside their drunks and
prostitutes and began killing the bright and beautiful people who lived in the
clean, comfortable, church-going neighborhoods. They killed them with abandon
and giddy pleasure, consuming clean, sweet-smelling flesh and severing trim
athletic limbs from lean, beautiful torsos. They were careful to always leave
enough of the mutilated bodies behind for recognition. And gradually, even the
most closed-minded of the humans had to admit that something decidedly
malevolent, if not quite of the spiritual realm, had moved into the
neighborhood. And whatever it was, it wasn’t looking to borrow a cup of sugar.

That was how the Strange Deaths Department had been born.
With his unusual and only partially known background and training in voodoo and
white witchcraft, DD Raoul had been an obvious choice for the department and
had been one of the first to volunteer for assignment there. He had quickly
gained a certain notoriety as a tough cop with a nose for finding and
prosecuting the boogeyman. Since he’d been on the job, whether by coincidence
or design, the number of strange crimes in the Angel City area had lessoned
markedly and the bogyman seemed less inclined to practice his deadly art.

Raoul looked down at the petite rookie standing before us
and gave her a beautiful smile filled with straight, white teeth. “You got a
problem with Tweener Phelps, Rogers?”

“She’s a Tweener, sir.”

His grin widened, but a dangerous glint touched his brown
eyes. “That is a fact, Rogers. I repeat, you got a problem?”

Rogers’ pretty little nose wrinkled in disgust but she
wasn’t stupid, she knew she was outnumbered. She pushed her hands into the pockets
of her uniform gray slacks and shook her head. “No sir.”

Raoul’s smile disappeared as the dangerous glint in his eyes
sharpened. “That’s good, Rogers, ’cause I got no time or patience for bigots in
my squad.”

Rogers nodded mutely and walked away, her narrow shoulders
drooping with the rebuke.

I sighed and stuck out my hand. “Why do you always feel
inclined to defend me, DD? I’m a big girl.”

He turned a genuine smile on me and took my outstretched
hand softly, almost caressingly. “I got my reasons. Besides…” a different kind
of glint entered his liquid, brown eyes, “you’re kind of cute.”

I laughed and shook my head at him. I knew that DD Raoul was
not nearly as flip as he tried to appear about bigotry. He had fought this
battle many times, donning his white armor for other poor souls whose DNA
wasn’t “human” enough. His reputation was well known throughout the force and
even to outsiders like me. Bigots didn’t get very far around him.

Raoul was probably the most powerful DD in the strange
crimes unit. His success rate in strange crimes was as good or better than any
other cop’s in the country. His dedication to his job and sense of fair play
were especially noteworthy under the current socio-political climate.

Since the equality movement really took hold in 2010, no one
on the force or in the military was allowed to have a rank and no one was paid
more than any other no matter how successful he/she was. The not too surprising
result was that most cops approached their jobs with an obvious lack of
motivation and a slight chip on their shoulders. Why kill yourself if you’re
not going to get any reward for it, either monetary or commendatory? Raoul was
different. He cared about the cases he worked. He had his own personal reasons
for everything he did. Most people didn’t know what those reasons were. I did.

He put an arm around my shoulders and walked me out of the
office, which was filled to overflowing with cops and technicians. “You got any
idea what did this, Phelps?”

I looked him right in the eye and smiled. “You don’t wanna
know what I think.”

He smiled right back at me. “I’m sure you’re right, but tell
me anyway.”

My eyes climbed toward the ceiling and I pointed upward with
one finger. He frowned his confusion. I didn’t want to speak it out loud, but I
didn’t seem to have much choice. Sometimes if you said their name out loud they
woke up. You never want to wake up gargoyles if you can avoid it. They
generally don’t wake up happy.

I decided to whisper it into Raoul’s ear. He groaned and
closed his eyes. “I been tellin’ the Chief we need to round up all those little
bastards and exterminate ’em. He says they’re protected until they do
something. I’d say this is something.”

I nodded. “I am a little surprised though. Ever since the
Big Guy took out that rebel group of them in ’49 they’ve just been sitting
quietly up on top of their buildings like they used to before the Big War. If
one of them woke up and did this, there must be something really big brewing.”
I leaned closer to Raoul and lowered my voice. “Or they think they have
adequate protection.”

“You know somethin’ you aren’t tellin’ me?” His dark eyes
narrowed suspiciously.

I nodded. “Yeah. But I can’t tell you. At least not until I
figure it all out myself.”

DD Raoul didn’t like that one bit. But there wasn’t much he
could do about it except tell me to be careful. Which he did, as I left.

I bid Raoul goodbye and trudged wearily to the Viper. I was
asleep before the Viper dropped gently into my vehicle shelter at home. I
roused myself just enough to drag my weary body to bed and collapse on it. I
was so tired I thought I’d probably sleep until well into the following day.

Which just goes to show you how naïve I can be at times.

Chapter
Seven

When Dreams Try Your Soul

I tossed and turned and flailed around and thought I
was in Hell

But how to justify those heav’nly thoughts that in my
mind did dwell.

He loomed over me, his dark golden skin touched with soft,
caressing light, his bottomless, black eyes fixed intently on my face. I seemed
unable to move as he knelt beside me on the bed and touched my hair, which was
spread across the pillow.

“Like silk, pretty one and heavy against my hand. Do you
know that beautiful hair is a sign of power in the Devil Court?”

I opened my mouth to give him a snotty response but nothing
came out. His fingers threaded through my hair and cupped the back of my head,
lifting me toward him. His soft lips parted and I could see the sharp tips of
his beautiful, white teeth. He raised me until I was entirely too close to that
sensual mouth, until I was just inches from those eyes. Those velvety black
eyes were pulling at my thoughts, making me dizzy and confused.