Satan's Sword (Imp Book 2) (23 page)

Huh? Hide from whom? And just because three tenants bail on me, now the rest want to go?

“The missing guys were there in the early evening to secure their spot, and then they were gone by morning. One each night. Vanished. Kitty says she knows what happened.”

“Wait, back up a moment here. Who do they need to hide from? And a cat is talking to you? Is this the six-legged green cat? Because I didn’t give it the power of speech.” Even if I could do that, it probably wouldn’t say anything but “feed me” or “pet me.” Cats were not great conversationalists.

“She says the three missing ones were murdered. I did find some blood out by the creek promenade, and it is strange that they’d leave willingly, without their belongings.”

“And the cat knows what happened to the missing tenants?” Maybe as a werewolf Reed could talk with cats?

“Kitty. She’s one of the homeless people, but she doesn’t stay here. They all know her. I think she’s been around the area for a long time, although I’ve never seen her before the tenants started disappearing. She says the murderer is usurping your right.”

I was flabbergasted. There is no way a homeless person used the word “usurp.” It wasn’t a word you commonly heard. I doubted Reed knew that word either. Maybe I’d misunderstood him.

“You mean
slurp
? A man is ‘slurping U-right’ which must be street slang for taking someone else’s stash?” Maybe she was referring to “The Man.” Humans blamed everything on “The Man.” I’ll bet he did a lot of slurping, whoever he was.

“No, usurp.” Reed sounded rather awed. “I kid you not, that is exactly what she said. She’s one of the more lucid that I’ve met, and I’m sure I heard her right.”

“Reed, I am leaving for Atlantic City in the morning. This will have to wait. The murderer is only taking one per night, right? So I can wait until Monday and I’ll lose a max of four people. That’s not too bad.”

There was a disapproving silence from the phone. I could tell that Reed was one of those who felt duty came before fun, and that four lives outweighed a gambling weekend in his opinion. I let the silence drag on, determined to wait him out, but werewolves are made of strong stuff.

“Okay, fine! I’ll be right down, but there might not be a whole lot I can do until I get back.”

This sucked. I wasn’t about to postpone my trip, but the prospect of having my homeless tenants snatched and “The Man” chipping away at my cash flow wasn’t really all that appealing either. Somehow, I doubted I could get this all wrapped up in twenty-four hours though.

Reed was waiting for me at the darkened row houses with a person I can only assume was Kitty. The woman appeared to be genderless in her bulky layers of clothing. It was impossible to tell if she was stocky or if she just had on fifteen shirts under her dark, hunter green jacket. A knit cap hid her hair, and mismatched gloves covered her hands. The oddest thing in her appearance was the very long scarf that merged her head into her shoulders, vanished under her coat, and appeared in two long strips from under the bottom of the coat to dangle down between her legs, like extra vestigial limbs. It was hard to keep my eyes from the scarf ends swinging from her crotch.

“This is Kitty.” Reed motioned to me, “Kitty, this is Ms. Martin. She owns these buildings and she really wants to hear all you know about this man who is murdering her tenants.”

Kitty eyed me up and down. I wondered if she was thinking about stealing my clothing to add yet one more layer. Finally satisfied, she nodded.

“The man takes people, kills them, and cuts off their ears.”

Oh great. The homeless boogie man again. Reed dragged me all the way down here to hear a fairly tale. I glared at him.

Kitty shook her head. “He is in your territory, killing your people. And now he has the nerve to walk right into your house and take them.” She looked me up and down again. “You have a responsibility to protect them. They prayed for help, and you, their Ha-Satan, must answer their pleas.”

What the hell? She sounded like that lump of blanket outside the vacant grocery store. Even if I was the Iblis, I wouldn’t be running around answering human prayers. What Bible was this woman reading?

“I didn’t come down here to hear a ghost story. I don’t care about some Ted Bundy with an ear fetish. Do you know why my tenants are leaving or not?”

“You
should
care,” she replied in an equally irritated tone. “He’s hunting in your territory. He’s killing what belongs to you. He’s trying to take your place, usurping your rights.”

There was that usurp word again. I’d heard it with my own ears. And speaking of ears.

“So you think this guy, this murderer, is snatching homeless people, killing them, and making trophies out of their ears? He’s doing this to rub my nose in it? As a deliberate challenge because he wants to be the devil?”

Kitty shifted from foot to foot. “I don’t think he’s doing it deliberately to piss you off. You should be pissed off though. I’m pissed off. I can only watch him. I can’t kill him, but you can.”

I looked over at Reed for confirmation. He nodded.

“I don’t know anything about ears, or this slurping business, but I do think someone is killing off your tenants one by one,” the werewolf said.

I sighed. I guessed I was going to have to find this guy and take him out. I’d rather let the police deal with it, but he was costing me, taking rent money out of my pocket, so to speak. And he was hunting in my territory, poaching. Plus, he might do as the rumors said and start killing children. If that fucker so much as looked at Angelo Perez, I’d rip his own ears off. Other body parts, too.

“Do you have his name and address? Please tell me you at least know more about this guy beyond his fascination with ears.”

The woman shook her head. “I don’t know that. I know where he goes, where he likes to frequent. You can track him from there.”

I turned to Reed. “If we had an address, I’d just run by there now and blow him the fuck up. I don’t have time to do a tracking job tonight though. I’ve got to leave for Atlantic City in the morning and I’ll be there all weekend.”

Reed stiffened, disappointment in his eyes. Having a werewolf look at me like that was pretty horrible. It was worse than when Boomer gave me that look.

“I can’t postpone this trip. Seriously. I’ve got to meet with a guy there, and he’s like the fucking Pope to try and get an appointment with. There’s no way he’ll ever let me reschedule. Can you pull some guard duty till then? At least people will feel safe here and hopefully we can fill the open spots with new tenants.”

“I can do that.” I knew Reed would do his absolute best to keep the people safe, but he still had that look in his eyes, as if I’d let him down.

“One more thing. I need someone to keep an eye on this boy.” I scribbled the Perez’s address on a scrap of paper. “The little one. He’s about five, I think. If you think he’s in any danger, step it up and do full security on him. If you need helpers, go ahead and bring them in. Just bill me.”

“Sure. You’ll be back on Monday?”

“Sunday. I’ll come back immediately after my meeting and call you as soon as I’m in town.”

I wasn’t sure how I was going to fit in a hunt for this murderer when I’d probably have a hoard of demons breathing down my neck. Heck, I wasn’t even sure I’d be returning from Atlantic City. If not, no one would see me on this side of the gates for at least a century. Reed and the werewolves may end up needing to handle this one solo.

Chapter 19

W
e were up early, cramming duffle bags into my little Corvette trunk. I refused to drive all the way to Atlantic City in the huge Suburban, so we packed extra light. Honestly, it was mostly my stuff. Wyatt intended to be fighting off aliens for the weekend and didn’t expect to need much in the way of clothing changes. I’m pretty sure all he had in his duffle bag were a couple pairs of underwear and a toothbrush. I’m not normally much of a clothes horse, but I didn’t know what my much anticipated hunt would entail. In addition to jeans, I’d thrown in a couple of dresses and heels, fully expecting that they’d be so trashed I wouldn’t return with them.

Wyatt slept until we were north of Baltimore, which didn’t make for an entertaining drive. Aside from a few traffic snarls, we moved along pretty well. I had to restrain myself from drawing on Wyatt’s snoring face with a sharpie or stuffing Doritos up his nose though. Finally, I turned on the radio to distract myself and put my favorite soft rock station on. Wyatt stirred and pulled his coat up over his head.

I had a lot to think about anyway. Haagenti was going to be on me like flies on shit as soon as I left Atlantic City. He wouldn’t trust me to turn the artifact over if some miracle occurred and I actually did manage to retrieve it. He’d have someone up there to watch me, to follow me home, to snatch it from me, and grab me, too. Plus, I was sure by now he knew that I wasn’t going to succeed. Either way, his efforts to punish me for my insolence would be tenfold after this weekend.

I thought about voluntarily going home and taking my lumps. The longer I waited, the more my household would suffer his assaults. I glanced over at Wyatt. He’d be in danger, too. If Haagenti had any sense whatsoever, he’d quickly realize my affection for Wyatt and threaten him. If I left, though, I’d probably never see Wyatt or any of my human friends again. They’d all be dead by the time Haagenti finished with me. I thought about Candy and the werewolf issues, Michelle and our dreams of rental-world domination, of Reed and this killer picking off my tenants. All that would have to go on without me if I was being dipped in liquid nitrogen or pulled apart on a rack for a hundred years or so.

I thought of Gregory. He wouldn’t care if Haagenti grabbed me. A few centuries of my being tortured wouldn’t put a crease in his plans. Besides, if he needed me for anything, he could just summon me right out from under Haagenti’s nose. The whole scenario would probably amuse him. Somehow, the thought was comforting. He was my one constant. He wouldn’t age and die in a mere century. He wouldn’t change. I’d come out of the ordeal, and he’d still be the same fascinating, enthralling asshole he was now.

I glanced over and saw Wyatt glaring at me. Journey’s “Lovin’ Touchin’, Squeezin’” was playing on the radio.

“What?” I asked.

“You secretly hate me, don’t you.” He gestured toward the radio. “You can’t stand the thought of me taking a much needed nap and leaving you to drive without conversation. You’re torturing me with this sappy stuff.”

“It’s Journey. I love this song.”

Wyatt mumbled something under his breath, picked up the CD case, and started looking through it. He paused with a choked noise, his eyes growing huge.

“You’re joking, Sam. Justin Bieber? What are you, a twelve-year old girl?”

There’s gonna be one less lonely girl
, I sang in my head. That was a great song. How could he not like that song? Still, I squirmed a bit in embarrassment.

“A twelve-year old girl gave me that CD,” I lied. “For my birthday.”

Wyatt snorted. “It’s a good thing you’re a terrible liar. Otherwise, I’d be horrified at the thought that a demon has been hanging out with a bunch of giggling pre-teens.”

He continued to thumb through the CDs. “Air Supply Greatest Hits? No, no, I’m wrong here. It’s an Air Supply cover band in
Spanish
.” He waved the offending CD in my face. “Sam, what on earth are you thinking? How did you even get this thing?”

“Some tenant left it behind,” I told him. “We evicted him, and there were all these CDs. Most were in Spanish, but I’ve got a Barry Manilow in there, too. That one’s in English.”

Wyatt looked at me a moment, and with the fastest movement I’ve ever seen, rolled down the window and tossed the case of CDs out onto the highway. It barely hit the road before a semi plowed over it.

I was pissed. “You asshole. I liked those CDs. I don’t come over to your house and trash your video games, or drive over your controllers. If you think that will make me listen to that Dubstep crap for the next two hours, then you better fucking think again.”

“I’m sorry Sam, but it’s past time for a musical intervention here. You can’t keep listening to this stuff. It wasn’t even remotely good when it was popular, and it certainly hasn’t gained anything over time. You need to pull yourself together and try to expand your musical interests a bit. You’re on a downward spiral, and if you keep this up, you’ll find yourself friendless, living in a box in a back alley, stinking of your own excrement, and covered in track marks.”

I looked at him in surprise. I had no idea Air Supply led to lack of bowel control and hard core drug usage. I wondered if it was something subliminal, a kind of compulsion programmed into the lyrics. Was Russell Hitchcock a sorcerer? He didn’t look that menacing to me, but sorcerers were pretty sneaky. Even so, I was sure Justin Bieber was okay. As soon as we hit a rest stop, I was ordering a replacement from my iPhone. The Barry Manilow one, too.

Wyatt took out a little USB stick and waved it at me.

“I made a playlist before we left. See? This is the sort of thoughtful thing boyfriends do for their girlfriends. I promise no Dubstep. Just some songs I thought you’d like that won’t drive me bonkers. I’ll put it on your stereo and hopefully continue my nap while you enjoy music that reasonably hip people might listen to.” He popped the USB stick into a slot on my stereo and a rap song filled the car.

Wyatt dozed back off, and I was entertained by his musical selections. The collection he’d chosen was eclectic. A few stereotypical Rob Zombie songs, but the rest were a pleasant surprise. Within an hour, I’d become a fan of Prodigy, Eminem, and some band named Sick Puppies.

We were past Aberdeen and fairly close to the section where Maryland, Delaware, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey all meet in a rush of inlets and waterways when I pulled over and woke Wyatt up for a pit stop.

“We’re almost to the Delaware border. We’ve got another hour and a half or so until we get there, so I thought we’d grab some coffee.”

Wyatt nodded, looking at the map on his cell phone. He’d printed out the directions he wanted me to take before we’d left the house, and for once, I didn’t disagree. We’d cross the Memorial Bridge and drive a bit on the New Jersey Turnpike, which I detested, then veer off onto some lesser traveled roads into Atlantic City.