Dancer of Death Read online

  “Which means she’d play Giselle?” Zahira asked.

  “That’s correct.”

  John’s lips pressed together. “I’m not certain how to say this in a way that would make it any easier, Mr. Syrkus. Ms. Danielson is dead, and she was killed by a vila.”

  * * *

  “Everyone, please gather round,” Syrkus called. “I have terrible news.”

  John, Zahira, and Caleb had followed the director down the hall, into the parts of the building not generally open to the public. They wound their way through a small maze of concrete-walled corridors, cheap tile floors, and doors with dancers’ names posted on them with tape. The air stank of sweaty feet and hairspray. Caleb sneezed twice before they reached the studio where the dancers had gathered.

  Clearly they had been rehearsing. When Syrkus spoke, the room fell silent, and the dancers stilled. John spotted Zahira’s friend Rania in the group, her eyes going to Zahira and brow raised in a question.

  She wasn’t the only one staring at the agents, and as Syrkus spoke, informing them of the tragedy, more eyes shifted to them. Those who weren’t crying, at least; several of the dancers broke down at the news of Danielson’s death. Moans of “Kandace?” and “Oh God, no,” echoed around the room.

  When Syrkus finished his piece, he beckoned John forward. John stepped up beside him, doing his best to radiate calm authority. “Because of the manner of Ms. Danielson’s death, we don’t believe this was a random attack,” he said. “We’re looking for information as to why someone might want to hurt her. A grudge, an angry lover, any detail at all might be of help to the investigation.”

  One of the male dancers, his thighs distractingly muscular beneath his tights, said, “You mean someone other than Rania and Olympia?”

  Gasps of horror rang out, and the entire company looked at him as though he’d said something inexcusable. “That isn’t true!” Rania shouted.

  The man shrugged. “She was your primary competition to dance Giselle.”

  “How dare you,” snapped another woman, whom John assumed was Olympia.

  He glanced over his shoulder at Caleb, who gave him a small shake of his head. No vila here. “No one in this room was responsible,” John said, fixing the male dancer with a cold look. “We would know if anyone here was possessed.”

  “If you meant this as a joke, Carlos, it was in poor taste,” Syrkus added with a glare at the dancer. “May I remind you Kandace is dead?”

  No one else spoke up. “I’m going to leave a stack of my business cards here,” John said. “If anything occurs to anyone—even something minor—don’t hesitate to call me, day or night.”

  “Thank you, Agent Starkweather,” Syrkus said. “I’m sure you’ll find who did this terrible thing. In the meantime,” he added, turning back to the company, “Kandace would wish the show to go on. Take five minutes to compose yourselves, and we’ll restart.”

  The dancers began to mill around. Several fled the room, wiping at their eyes. John had hoped someone else might come forward to talk to him, once everyone’s attention was scattered again, but only Rania approached.

  “You’re going to catch whoever did this, aren’t you?” she asked Zahira.

  “Inshallah, yes,” Zahira replied. “I’ll call you later. You have my number, right? Text or call if you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Kandace. Or if you just need to talk.”

  Rania nodded. “Yeah. I will.”

  They left, returning to the summer heat outside. John cranked the air vents up to full blast to combat the sweltering sedan.

  “Well, that was a bust,” Caleb said from the back seat. “I know it would be a weird coincidence, but maybe this doesn’t actually have anything to do with the ballet company. Maybe is was just random.”

  “Possible,” John conceded. “But one of the dancers for a company known for performing Giselle is murdered by a vila? And she was apparently auditioning for the part? Even if the rest of the company wasn’t involved, this has all the earmarks of someone who knew Danielson and wanted her dead.”

  “Agreed,” Zahira said. “So what next? We question the roommate?”

  John nodded as he steered the car out of the lot. “Yes. Let’s hope she has more for us than the company did.”

  Chapter 5

  “So much for that,” Caleb said as they walked through the halls of SPECTR-HQ to reach the conference room again.

  The roommate hadn’t been helpful—she and Danielson hadn’t been particularly close, and apparently Danielson had spent her little free time studying videos of famous dancers, breaking in pointe shoes, and other ballet-related activities. Her only friends were with the company, and she had no love interest as far as the roommate knew.

  “Someone has to know something,” John said firmly. “I still don’t believe this was a random death.”

  “And unfortunately the vila is still out there, so even if the first death wasn’t random, the next one might be,” Caleb said. He reached the door to the conference room they normally used, then stopped. “Goddamn it.”

  MONSTER was scrawled in huge black letters across the door.

  Shit.

  For a moment, John’s vision flashed red and his fists tightened. He wanted to find the asshole who vandalized the door and beat him to within an inch of his life. Then he’d go to Barillo’s office and scream at him for letting this shit go on, for not taking the harassment seriously.

  “I’ll be back,” Caleb said, turning away from the door.

  John took a deep breath and fought for calm. He had to keep his head together, had to be there for Caleb. “Just hold on, babe. We don’t know who—”

  “I’m just going to the fucking bathroom,” Caleb snarled, and hell, was there a deeper rumble to his voice? “I’ll be back.”

  He stomped away without waiting for a reply. John wanted to run after him, wanted to grab Caleb and pull him into a hug. Wanted to protect him from all the stupidity and the senseless hate.

  “John?” Zahira asked uncertainly.

  He sighed. “Yes?”

  “I don’t understand.” She followed him into the conference room. “I get that Gray is a big, scary NHE. But why…this?” She gestured back at the door. “Everyone acts genuinely afraid of him, and I don’t understand why.”

  “It’s complicated,” John hedged.

  “If not for Gray, Forsyth would have killed a lot more people,” Zahira said. “But instead of treating him like a hero, everyone seems convinced he’s a bomb ready to go off.” She hesitated. “Is it just some stupid prejudice? Other NHEs are dangerous, so he must be dangerous by association?”

  John wanted to tell her yes. It was just a stupid prejudice, and it didn’t matter how many lives Gray saved, just like it didn’t matter how many people who looked like Zahira were fighting and dying against terrorists every day. Because fear had taken the place of logic.

  And it would mostly be the truth. Sort of.

  But the people who were the most terrified of Gray were the ones who’d been there at Fort Sumter. Who’d seen him in all his glory.

  Who’d witnessed that moment of hesitation, when it had seemed like he really was going to kill them, too.

  He thought about the vampire teddy bear sitting in the corner of their office, a gift from Karl Rand to Caleb in an attempt to make up for all the shitty treatment he’d gotten since Fort Sumter. “Not everyone is afraid of Gray,” he replied carefully. “It’s just a lot for people to adapt to. After all, we’re taught our entire lives that possession equals madness and death. Our job is to stop people who are possessed, to remove NHEs from our plane of existence one way or another. And now the higher ups are asking us all to work beside one.”

  Zahira stared at her hands thoughtfully. Her nails were neatly clipped and covered in a clear polish. “I suppose. Maybe if we weren’t so ignorant about etheric entities, people wouldn’t be scared of them.” A sigh of frustration escaped her. “We barely know anything about NHEs, let alone the etheric plane. We don’t even know how they pass back and forth from our world to theirs, other than we have to summon them. But since summoning is completely illegal, we can’t study the most basic interaction with them, not even for science, not even if we mean to send them back right away!”

  John nodded, glad the conversation had shifted to less dangerous ground. “I know. After working with the Vigilant…well, I’m not sure what the law ought to be, but NHEs can be summoned safely. There should be exceptions for summonings under controlled circumstances.”

  “I wonder if Forsyth discovered anything useful?” Zahira sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Although, if he did, he certainly wasn’t publishing papers on it. I’m sure all his research is locked away in a vault where no one will ever see it again. I just wish…”

  No wonder she’d been so excited to work beside Gray. “Is that why you applied for this assignment? Because it was your only chance to see an NHE up close?”

  She put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, no! Well, yes. But it sounds bad when you put it that way.”

  John grinned. “I assure you, it doesn’t. Agents take assignments for a lot worse reasons, believe me.”

  “I don’t want to sound like I think of Gray as a…a laboratory rat, though.” She chewed worriedly on her lower lip. “And I understand that after being taken prisoner by Forsyth, he’s wary of anyone else getting too curious.”

  “Honestly, I think that’s mostly Caleb,” John said. “He’s always had a problem with authority, and Forsyth didn’t help things much.” He paused, an idea forming. “I tell you what—I’ll ask Gray if he minds you asking questions. Caleb can’t really object if Gray doesn’t.”

  Of course, Caleb would most certainly object. But Gray had rights, too. Maybe
not legally, but surely morally.

  “Really?” Zahira clasped her hands together, eyes shining. “That would be wonderful!”

  John grinned, but a little worm of guilt squirmed in his gut. Because here he was, talking about her getting a closer look at Gray when they weren’t in the middle of a fight…and not telling her what had really happened that night of Fort Sumter.

  What Gray actually was.

  She was their partner, working with them in close quarters. Didn’t she have the right to know?

  Nothing like Fort Sumter would ever happen again. Those circumstances had been special—it had taken a massive amount of NHEs to give Gray the power to fully manifest. Hundreds, at least.

  And if it wouldn’t happen again, then there was no need for Zahira to know about it, right?

  * * *

  Caleb stormed into the men’s room. Thank God there was no one at the urinals; he wasn’t sure he could have kept himself from flashing fangs in their direction.

  Because fuck these assholes. They had him trapped—he couldn’t leave because the higher ups like Kaniyar would never let him, but that didn’t stop every lower-level agent from doing their damnedest to push him out. And John, acting so fucking calm, like nothing was wrong…

  Caleb spun and slammed his fist into the long mirror hanging above the sinks. It shattered with a satisfying crunch, shards falling free to crash against the counter. And to hell with Barillo—if he looked the other way for the vandalism of the door, he could damn well ignore this, too.

  A toilet at the end of the row of stalls flushed.

  Caleb braced his hands on the counter and bowed his head. Great. Just great. He’d had a meltdown, and now someone would run to Barillo and tattle, and maybe Gray had the right idea and they should just grab John and take off…

  “Caleb? Um, are you okay?” Karl Rand asked.

  Some of the tension left Caleb’s shoulders, and he leaned forward, resting his forehead against the broken glass. “Heh. I bet that’s not a question you have to ask very often.”

  “Kind of a first,” Karl said wryly. His shoes tapped crisply on the tiles as he crossed to a sink and washed his hands. “But, since I can’t sense you, you’re going to have to tell me.” He let out a hiss. “You’ve hurt your hand.”

  “It’ll heal,” Caleb said, and indeed the cuts were already closing. Slower than they should have, since Gray hadn’t fed in a while, but far faster than on anyone unpossessed.

  He straightened and turned to face Karl. Karl wore a nice suit—John would be envious—and a tie which matched his green empath’s armband. “Some dick wrote ‘monster’ on the door of the conference room we’ve been using,” Caleb admitted. “I’m just frustrated, that’s all.”

  Karl’s mouth quirked. “I understand.”

  “Yeah,” Caleb said, his gaze falling on the armband. “I guess you do.” Bad enough most people were scared of empaths. But it had to be twice as bad to come out as a transman and get a full blast of what assholes felt about that delivered straight to your head. “I don’t know how you put up with it.”

  “I have a great therapist,” Karl said with a rueful grin. “Beyond that…in my experience, a lot of people spend their lives terrified of things which don’t actually pose any danger to them. I don’t know if it’s just easier for the human brain to feel fear, if it’s some kind of default you have to work against, or what. But I try to remind myself how awful it would be to live like that. Every day, choosing to spend your life afraid, when you don’t have to be.”

  “Yeah,” Caleb said slowly. “I see what you mean. I’m not sure it makes it any easier, but I see what you mean.”

  Karl laughed. “Well, I’m working on it too. Believe me.”

  “I hear you.” Caleb bit his lip. “Hey, man, back when you could still sense me, before the possession became permanent…I hope I didn’t make you feel bad. I didn’t have the best attitude toward empaths…and I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. I was a dick, and I’m sorry.”

  “I’ve haven’t been entirely comfortable around you, either, then or recently,” Karl said. “So let’s call it even.”

  “Sounds good.” Caleb stuck his hand out, before remembering that wasn’t something you were supposed to do with an empath. Karl looked taken aback, then grinned and shook his hand.

  “You could be very popular with empaths,” Karl said. “Someone we don’t have crowding into our heads all day? If you weren’t dating Starkweather…”

  “Ha!” But it made Caleb think. “Listen, Karl…how much does all this bother John?”

  Karl sighed. “I can’t tell you, Caleb. It would be unethical.”

  “Yeah, sorry.” Caleb felt stupid for even asking. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “No problem.” Karl glanced at the exit. “Are you going to be okay, or…?”

  “Yeah.” Caleb stepped toward the door. “I need to get back to it. There’s a vila out there killing people, and a few jerks here at SPECTR don’t change that. But thanks for talking to me.” He paused. “Hey, you want to come over some night? We’ll watch the race, make John cook us dinner, and drink beer.”

  Karl laughed. “It’s a date.”

  * * *

  “Another day, another crime scene,” Caleb said the next morning.

  They’d still been dressing for the day when the call came in to John’s phone. An early morning jogger had found another body, probably a second vila victim, in Waterfront Park. Now Caleb, John, and Zahira made their way through yet another scene of milling cops and forensic technicians.

  Clouds had rolled in overnight, lending the sunlight a grayish hue. Seagulls kited on the stiff breeze, occasionally diving down into the waves. A few early tourists gawked from the street, held back by the police barriers.

  Detective Tradd awaited them once again. “This looks like the same MO as the killer at Brittlebank Park,” she said as they approached. “So I called SPECTR right away. No one’s disturbed the body yet.” She glanced over her shoulder. “It’s in the fountain.”

  John nodded. “Thanks, detective. We’ll take a look.”

  Caleb took a deep breath as he followed John and Zahira toward the circular fountain. Salt, rotting marsh grass, and fish dominated the air, but intermingled he detected the scent of old blood, of sweat gone rank and vile.

  “It is faint, though.” Disappointment. “The demon is long gone.”

  “The vila was here,” he reported. “I don’t think it hung around this time—the scent is pretty faded.”

  “Got it,” John said with a nod.

  “Did the vila feel more confident this time?” Zahira wondered. “Is that why it didn’t linger?”

  “Hard to say, but it’s possible,” John agreed. “Especially if the faust hasn’t been possessed long, and wasn’t sure about the whole ‘killing people’ thing to begin with. This second kill might have been easier for them to agree to.”

  They approached a fountain in the shape of a palmetto bush. Normally jets of water shot from the crown to fall into the basin beneath. Someone had at least thought to turn off the water, although it still pooled around the body, draining slowly from her saturated clothing and hair. The victim lay half-in the basin, as if she’d collapsed into the fountain—or flung herself in. Her legs dangled over the side, her shoes nothing but tatters, bone showing through the soles of her blistered feet. Her features were obscured beneath the water collected in the basin, but even so, Caleb’s heart sank.

  “She’s one of the other dancers, isn’t—wasn’t—she?” he asked.

  John nodded grimly. He leaned over the body, studying it carefully. “Olympia, I think, was the name.”

  Zahira hissed softly. “She was the other soloist, wasn’t she?”

  Caleb swore. “This was aimed at the company, then. Not at Danielson at all—or at least, not just at her. Someone wants to take out everyone who might dance the part of Giselle.”

  His gaze met Zahira’s. Her dark eyes had gone wide beneath her black hijab. “And that means Rania will be next.”

  Chapter 6