Dancer of Death

  Dancer of Death

  (SPECTR Series 2 #2)

  Jordan L. Hawk

  Dancer of Death (SPECTR Series 2 #2) © 2016 Jordan L. Hawk

  ISBN: 978-1-941230-17-6

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art © 2016 Jordan L. Hawk

  Image credits: © DollarPhotoClub.com / Gajus

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Annetta Ribken

  Chapter 1

  Elise danced effortlessly to the music flowing through her ear buds. Every move was simple, her body perfect.

  Grand jeté.

  No pain in her ankles.

  Double turn, double turn, double turn, double turn.

  No pain anywhere, except for the blazing heat knotted in her chest.

  Arabesque.

  She held the position for a long time, without the slightest tremor in her supporting leg or the tiniest shift of weight, as though her body were made of air. As though gravity and the laws of physics bent themselves to accommodate her every desire.

  The music came to an end, and she pulled out the ear buds. She should have been soaked in sweat from exertion by now, but she wasn’t even breathing hard.

  It was glorious.

  “You are glorious,” cooed the demon.

  Elise crossed the room, stepping over the smears of blood covering the concrete floor. “I have to be,” she said aloud. “This was my last rehearsal. Tomorrow…”

  “Tomorrow, we will be perfect.”

  She took a deep breath and nodded. She’d had thirty-six days of practice, first alone, then pas de deux. Tomorrow, the show began. Three acts and a grand finale.

  “And you’ll have your revenge.”

  She smiled as she bent and picked up the corpse lying in a pool of sweat, vomit, and blood. The body was still warm, but it was July in the south. Nothing cooled off quickly here.

  Not without help.

  Several enormous freezers stood around the otherwise barren room, humming softly as they struggled against the summer heat. She carried the body with inhuman strength to the nearest one, opened it, and dumped the corpse on top of the others already packed inside. One mangled foot flopped out; she shoved it inside with a loud crack, then closed the lid.

  “Maybe I should have tried to find a ghoul,” she mused, clicking the padlock into place. She’d gotten into the habit of speaking aloud ever since summoning the demon. “Then I wouldn’t have to worry about the power bill.”

  “Scavengers,” the demon said with disgust. “Brutes. We are artists, you and I.”

  “Yes,” she murmured as she made her way to the door. “And in four days, everyone in Charleston will know it.”

  They’d see she was perfect. They’d realize she was still a great dancer.

  And then they would die.

  * * *

  “Um, hello?” Caleb called uncertainly. He stood in the doorway to the small back room of a bookstore, which looked like it normally served as the employee break room. Inside milled a group of about ten people, talking and laughing as they set out folding chairs and puttered around the donuts and soda crowded onto the short counter. “Is this Paranormally Abled Support System?”

  “Caleb!” said a familiar voice. Nigel Legare emerged from the crowd, a smile on his face. “Welcome to PASS. I’m glad you decided to come.”

  “Um, yeah.” Caleb glanced nervously at the other people in the room. They smiled at him, murmuring welcomes. He started to relax; it was a hell of a nice change from the suspicious scowls he was used to getting at work.

  “They would be foolish to fear us. Mortals are not food.”

  And so much for relaxing. It wasn’t that he wanted to forget Gray was there, exactly. But it would be nice to go ten minutes without being reminded a demon-munching vampire spirit possessed him.

  “Then you are also foolish.”

  Hush.

  Nigel shook his hand warmly. “What’s your ability, Caleb?”

  “TK. Telekinetic,” Caleb said. After hiding his ability for most of his life, it felt weird to announce it in front of a room of strangers. But that was the whole point of coming here in the first place. To have somewhere to talk about what he was going through, away from SPECTR and everyone connected to it.

  Even John.

  Nigel nodded. “Here in group, we try to normalize the use of our powers. We use them as much as we can while we’re here. Would you like to help Deacon set up the chairs?”

  The man Nigel indicated was about Caleb’s age, red haired and cute as hell. “Sure,” Caleb said.

  Deacon grinned. “Glad to have another fellow TK here,” he said. Green eyes gave Caleb the once-over.

  It looked like they had more in common than telekinesis.

  “Can you lift a chair on your own? It’s okay if you can’t,” Deacon added quickly. “We’re all about working together here.”

  “No, I can,” Caleb said. Last year he’d barely been able to nudge a paper coffee cup, but now that Gray had set up shop in his head, his TK had grown exponentially.

  Deacon dragged chairs from the corner with nothing but the power of his mind. Other group members grabbed and unfolded them once they were in position. Caleb joined in, careful not to pull on the chairs too hard and send them flying into anyone.

  While they worked, a pyrokinetic went around the room, lighting decorative candles. Nigel used cryokinesis to chill the soda. A woman, maybe twenty years old tops, poured the soda into cups. She wore a green armband.

  Shit. Caleb had never been comfortable around empaths, even when they could sense his emotions. But once Gray’s possession became permanent, a curtain had come down. Empaths couldn’t pick him up at all, not even a whisper.

  Like he wasn’t even human anymore.

  Gray stirred, like a sleepy tiger flicking an ear at an annoying gnat. “You did not like it when empaths could sense you. Now they cannot, and yet you still are not satisfied.”

  Because it’s suspicious as fuck. If she realizes she’s not picking up anything from me, she’s going to wonder why.

  “That is why we should be out hunting demons instead of wasting time with foolish mortals.”

  Caleb resisted the urge to roll his eyes, not wanting to weird anyone else out. We can’t. Barillo has us benched, remember?

  “How could I forget?” Annoyance and frustration flooded Caleb, spilling over from Gray. “I have not eaten since the raven mocker. I wish to hunt; I wish to feed.”

  I know, but Barillo would go ballistic.

  “I do not care.”

  Well I do, and so does John. Christ, it’s not like you can starve. Just be patient.

  Soon, the group was seated in a loose circle, donuts and sodas in hand. The last conversation died away as Nigel cleared his throat.

  “Welcome, friends,” he said with another fatherly smile, “to this week’s meeting of Paranormally Abled Support System. Just as a reminder, everything said here, stays here. Our mission is to support and lift up each other.”

  There was a general nodding and murmuring. Caleb shifted in the uncomfortable metal chair. He was the only one without anything to eat or drink. Gray had dialed his senses up to eleven, and he couldn’t stand the chemical sweetness of soda any more. Donuts weren’t much better, depending on how much high-fructose corn syrup was dumped into them.

  “As you can see, we have a new member this evening.” Nigel gestured at Caleb. “Caleb, would you like to go first?”

  “Uh…” He’d expected Nigel to mention he worked for SPECTR, at least as a contractor. Mayb
e Nigel figured it was for Caleb to reveal—or not—to the group. Whatever the reason, it made him feel a little better. Like he might actually be able to blend in here and be normal. Or paranormal. Whatever. “I’m not sure what to say.”

  “Say whatever you want,” Nigel encouraged. “Tell us what’s on your mind. We’re here to listen, not to judge. And if you have some good news, share that too!” He paused. “Since it’s your first time here, why don’t you tell us why you decided to join the group?”

  “Okay.” Caleb took a deep breath. “So yeah. My name’s Caleb. You probably figured that out already.” A smattering of laughter answered him. “I guess I came because…because I need somewhere I can just relax and be normal. I’m sick of people looking at me like I’m some kind of walking time bomb.”

  “I hear you,” said the empath with a scowl. “I mean, I have to be touching somebody with bare skin to get even a hint of what they’re feeling, but I still have to wear this stupid armband! People act like I’m going to…I don’t know, scramble their brains at any second.”

  “Uh, yeah,” Caleb said with a flash of guilt. Hadn’t he used to look at empaths like that? At least he didn’t have to worry about her sensing him—or rather, failing to—from across the room. “I’m not dangerous just because I’m different. But people act like I don’t have any morals, or a conscience. Like I’m a monster.”

  Which, to be fair, he sort of was. Or rather they were, he and Gray. But that didn’t mean they were going to start snacking on everyone at SPECTR-HQ, no matter what some of the agents thought.

  “The paranormally abled often feel isolated, lonely,” Nigel said sympathetically. Which was a laugh, because the one thing Caleb would never be again was alone.

  “Alienated,” said Deacon, who’d taken the seat beside Caleb.

  Caleb nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good word for it. Alienated.”

  “Do you have any support in your personal life?” Nigel took a sip from his soda. “A friend you can confide in?”

  “My parents and brother are dead. And my brother got mixed up in some anti-paranormal stuff before he died.” Which had indirectly led to the whole possessed-by-a-drakul thing.

  “My parents were big donors to Senator Olney.” Deacon offered him a rueful smile. “At least, until it turned out he was summoning demons and went to prison.”

  “Ouch,” Caleb said. Olney had been an anti-paranormal dick, and Caleb hadn’t been sorry to see him go down. “I don’t want it to sound like I don’t have anyone, though. My boyfriend understands. It’s just…well…he thinks if I stick it out long enough, things will get better. People will realize I’m not going to go crazy and do something awful. And hell, I don’t know, maybe he’s right.”

  “Easy to tell somebody to just wait it out when you’re not suffering with them,” Deacon scoffed.

  Caleb winced. “He’s got things of his own going on.” Which was true, but it sounded like a lame excuse.

  Deacon looked like he had another comment, but Nigel beat him to it. “It’s important to realize you aren’t alone here. We’ve all felt alienated by society at one time or another. Sometimes refusing to engage is the right course, as your boyfriend suggests. And sometimes it’s the wrong one. Only you can decide which choice is right for you.”

  There came a murmur and nodding of sympathetic heads. Feeling a bit like a fraud, Caleb leaned back in his chair and spent the rest of the meeting listening to the others talk. If they knew what he was having trouble coping with wasn’t just the ordinary trials of having a paranormal ability, but of possession…

  They’d all run screaming and never look back.

  * * *

  “Hey, Caleb, wait a sec,” Deacon called as Caleb walked out of the bookstore.

  He paused while the other man caught up. The late sunlight gleamed on Deacon’s copper hair and on the thin ring in his nose. He reminded Caleb vaguely of his last boyfriend, before he’d left Charlotte and gotten mixed up in madness and death and possession.

  And met John Starkweather, federal exorcist, as far from the type of guy Caleb usually went out with as it was possible to get.

  “Where’d you park?” Deacon asked, falling in beside Caleb. The sidewalks in this part of Charleston were narrow and uneven, and they had to walk almost shoulder-to-shoulder.

  “I didn’t,” Caleb confessed. “No car.”

  “I can give you a lift,” Deacon offered.

  Caleb bit his lip. “Umm…” Was Deacon hitting on him? Or just being nice?

  “It’s just, you know, the disappearances,” Deacon said quickly, as if he knew what Caleb was thinking. “Is it safe to walk by yourself?”

  “Oh yeah, I heard about that,” Caleb said. Some talking head on the news last night had been going on about a higher-than-usual number of missing persons cases over the last couple of weeks. Mostly homeless people and sex workers, but otherwise there was no particular pattern.

  Gray perked up. “Perhaps it is a demon,” he said hopefully.

  Demon or human serial killer—which was worse? Then again, it might be neither. If there was any proof connecting the disappearances, the police hadn’t released it. With any luck, it was nothing, just a bunch of people leaving town at the same time. Maybe going north to get away from the heat.

  “And you’re not worried?” Deacon asked. “Even a little?”

  The real answer was no. Gray could take on just about anything. Not having to worry about getting his ass kicked by some homophobe who thought long hair and short-shorts were an affront to manhood was one of the few perks of being possessed.

  “And I am another one.”

  Yeah, right, Caleb thought back. But he made sure to send a surge of affection along with the thought.

  But Deacon was trying to be nice, and hadn’t Caleb come to PASS to make friends in the first place? He wanted to feel normal, and giving each other rides when there might be a serial killer on the loose was the sort of thing normal people did.

  “Yeah, a little,” Caleb lied with a smile. “Thanks, man. I appreciate the offer.”

  Deacon grinned back and tipped an imaginary hat. “Any time.”

  Chapter 2

  John dumped the dustpan into the kitchen trash and paused to survey the condo. There—the downstairs was picked up, dusted, and swept. He had to admit, one thing about riding a desk for the last few weeks meant far less dirt and blood tracked on the floors at the end of the day.

  The dryer dinged. As he gathered the laundry into the hamper, the sound of the front door closing echoed through the condo. “How was the meeting?” he called as he carried the hamper back into the living room.

  Caleb kicked off his shoes—a pair of ratty sneakers starting to come apart at the sole—beside the door. A tie-dyed shirt, thin from a thousand washings, clung to his slender frame. Long black hair hid his face for a moment as he leaned over to peel off his socks. “It was good,” he said. “Everyone was nice.”

  “I didn’t know Nigel well when he worked for SPECTR, but he always seemed like a good guy,” John offered. “I’m glad it worked out for you. I guess you’ll be going back?”

  “Yeah.” Caleb paused, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. “I felt like they understood me.” He shook his head. “Which is dumb, because they don’t understand anything. They can’t ever know about Gray, so I spent the whole time…not lying, but letting them assume it’s the ordinary discriminatory bullshit against paranormals.”

  “But you have faced that,” John said, trying to be fair. “At least a little.”

  Caleb had spent most of his life under the radar. Unregistered, his TK weak enough he could pass for normal. He’d never marched in a Paranormal Pride Parade, or been refused service in a bar because of the state-required listing of his paranormal ability on his ID.

  Or been sent to “therapy” by his parents, which was supposed to somehow cure him of his ability, if he only prayed hard enough.

  But that wasn’t a fair way to look at things, Jo
hn reminded himself. Caleb had lived a paranoid life before registration, and Goddess knew he had plenty to deal with now.

  “I guess,” Caleb said. He paused, head cocked slightly, as if listening. “But Gray…oh fine. He wants to tell you about it himself.”

  Between one second and the next, Caleb’s brown eyes went black as obsidian, without visible iris or white. His stance shifted, straightened, and his long black hair lifted from his shoulders, blown by a wind that touched nothing else. John’s skin prickled, as if the air had taken on a static charge, and the scent of petrichor and incense washed over him.

  “The meeting was boring,” Gray said in a voice like the distant rumble of thunder. “Mortals talking and talking about themselves. I do not care about their problems.”

  John set the hamper aside. “No, but Caleb does.”

  “I would have preferred to hunt.” Gray’s lip curled, revealing a white fang. “When will we hunt again?”

  John winced. Of course this was what Gray would want to talk about. “I don’t know. The rest of us would rather be out in the field, too.”

  Although honestly, he felt far worse for Zahira than for Gray, or even himself. Even if his career was toast, at least he’d had one to start with. And Gray might be restless, but a few weeks on a no-NHE diet wouldn’t actually hurt him.

  But Zahira? This was her first assignment, right out of the Academy. And yeah, she’d been the one to choose it, when every other agent had flat-out refused to work with them. Well, with Gray. But she’d been determined, and if things had gone differently, the assignment might have caught the eye of someone higher up the food chain than District Chief Michael Barillo.

  When they’d been barred from the field, she’d put a good face on it, and used her new clearance to delve into every scrap of information SPECTR had accumulated about the etheric plane over the years. But all the research in the world wouldn’t make up for the practical field experience she was meant to be getting—and wasn’t.