Dancer of Death Read online

  When they entered the studio, a hush swept across the room. The dancers were in the midst of warming up, and some remained caught in poses when they noticed the agents: arms raised, a foot resting on the barre, one leg stretched before them as they knelt on the floor.

  For an instant, everything was silent. Then one of the women whispered Olympia’s name. A wild murmur rose up: “Is she all right?” “Where is she?” “Maybe nothing happened to her—she’s just late!”

  Rania stood amidst the panicking dancers, her gaze trained on Zahira. John hoped she remained as calm when she found out she might be next on the vila’s list.

  “Mr. Syrkus,” he said, crossing to where the director stood watching. “I’d like to speak with you privately, if I may. My colleagues will address the rest of the company.”

  “Privately? But…” Syrkus trailed off. “Very well, Agent Starkweather. Join me in my office.”

  John exchanged a look with Zahira as he followed Syrkus out. She’d break the news of Olympia’s death to the rest of the company, then take Rania aside. With any luck, Rania would agree to protective custody while they figured out their next move.

  Syrkus shut the door behind them, then went to his desk. “Something to drink?” he asked, pulling out the flask and two glasses.

  “No, thank you,” John replied, sitting down across from the desk without being asked.

  “Ah yes. You’re on duty.” Syrkus splashed a good amount of whiskey into one of the glasses. “I hope you don’t mind if I indulge.”

  “Go right ahead,” John said. “You don’t seem curious as to why we’re here.”

  Syrkus sat down heavily in his own chair. For a moment, he looked older, the lines in his face deeply graven, as if some part of him had given up the struggle against gravity. “Olympia didn’t come in this morning. I told myself she was just late. There had been a traffic jam, or her alarm didn’t go off. But she’s dead, isn’t she?”

  John nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  Syrkus slugged back the whiskey in a single gulp. “Damn. So much talent; so much potential. Wasted.”

  “The loss of a life, especially a young one, is always tragic,” John agreed. “But with her death, our investigation shifts from focusing on Ms. Danielson, to focusing on what seems to be the common thread. The Beaufain Ballet Company.”

  Syrkus looked alarmed. “What do you mean? Surely you aren’t accusing—”

  “I’m not accusing any of your dancers. Or you,” John added. “My colleague, Mr. Jansen, would know in an instant if the vila had been on the premises recently.”

  Syrkus frowned, but didn’t ask for an explanation. “So who is it? Who is doing these terrible things?”

  “That’s what we want to know.” John leaned forward. “Think carefully, Mr. Syrkus. Is there anyone who might have a grudge against the company as a whole?”

  “What do you mean?” Syrkus drew himself up slightly. “A grudge? What sort of grudge?”

  “A rivalry?” John spread his hands out in a gesture of helplessness. “An angry business partner? Someone desperate to see the company fail? You could tell me far more easily than I could guess.”

  Syrkus’s scowled. “Don’t be absurd. There’s nothing like that. No one who would—would kill to see us fail.”

  “Think hard. Are you sure?”

  “Of course!” Syrkus rose to his feet abruptly, forcing John to look up at him. “Isn’t it your job to discover these things, instead of asking the victims to solve the crime themselves? SPECTR should have protected Olympia, and now she’s dead!”

  John took a calming breath. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Syrkus, but it’s hard to predict what a faust will do if we don’t know why they’re doing it.”

  Syrkus snorted. “The vila is a demon. Demons don’t have a why.”

  “Perhaps.” John rose to his feet. “But humans do. Look to your favorite ballet, if you need a reminder.”

  * * *

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” Rania said.

  She sat on the floor against the wall, one knee drawn up to her chest, hugging it to her. Zahira crouched beside her. Caleb leaned against the cinder block wall a few feet away, idly admiring the legs of one of the male dancers. The company milled around, whispering to each other and casting unhappy looks in Rania’s direction.

  “Inshallah, it’s going to be all right,” Zahira said. She put a comforting hand on Rania’s wrist. “We won’t let the vila hurt you. We can take you into protective custody, and—”

  She was cut off by Syrkus striding into the room, his face dark with anger. John followed him, and although his expression seemed impassive, Caleb knew him well enough by now to spot the tiny line on his forehead, the tightness at the corner of his mouth. Syrkus had pissed him off.

  “All right.” Syrkus clapped his hands for attention. “There is no delicate way to announce this, so I shall be direct. Rania, you will dance the part of Giselle this season.”

  Rania’s eyes widened, and she rose to her feet. Someone started to applaud, then stopped quickly when no one else joined in.

  Was this guy nuts? He’d already had two ballerinas murdered. Was he trying to make it three? “You can’t mean to put on the ballet!” Caleb exclaimed.

  “Of course I do.” Syrkus scowled. “Agent Starkweather believes this vila is targeting the company. Trying to stop our production for some inscrutable reason. We must be strong, and we must honor the memories of Kandace and Olympia. So we will put on the best version of Giselle anyone has ever seen!”

  There came a smattering of clapping this time, although many of the dancers looked alarmed. Caleb didn’t blame them. Was Syrkus a complete lunatic?

  Zahira looked worriedly at Rania. “Rania? Tell him you won’t do it.”

  Rania glanced at Zahira, then at Syrkus. For a moment she hesitated…then she drew herself up, shoulders back, a study in grace and strength. “I’ll do it. I’ll dance the part of Giselle.”

  Syrkus grinned. “That’s my girl. All right, everyone. Today we’ll…”

  Caleb tuned the rest out, turning to Rania. “You can’t be serious! You’re risking your life over a part?”

  “This isn’t just a part,” Rania replied. “This means I’m being elevated to principal dancer.”

  “I know, but—”

  “No. You don’t know.” Her dark eyes burned fiercely. “I’ve worked my entire life for this. I put on my first pair of ballet shoes when I was four. I’ve spent every day, every hour, every minute since working for this. And some demon isn’t going to keep me from getting it.”

  John had joined them. “We’ll do what we can to keep you safe, but you’re still taking a risk. Are you sure you don’t want protective custody?”

  “I’m certain.” Her mouth took on a firm line, and she raised her chin defiantly.

  “All right.” John nodded. “I respect your decision. The other two soloists weren’t attacked in their homes—it looks like the vila might have followed them from the studio, then either lured or trailed them to the parks where they died.”

  “So step one, stay away from parks,” Caleb said.

  John gave him a look which suggested it would be more helpful if he’d keep his mouth shut. “My point is, your ordinary movements might draw out the vila.”

  “And then we catch it,” Gray said unexpectedly. Caleb hadn’t realized he was even paying attention. “And eat it.”

  Unless it can still be exorcised.

  Caleb coughed. “That’s a good idea,” he said, trying to make his voice deeper to convey it was Gray’s opinion, without saying anything suspicious in front of Rania.

  Rania looked at him like he was crazy. “Didn’t you just say the opposite?”

  “You could say I’m of two minds about it.”

  “What do you think, Rania?” Zahira asked quickly. “We’re not using you as bait, exactly…but we sort of are.”

  “No, that’s fine.” She nodded determinedly. “Anything to get this over with. I’m supposed to go out clubbing for a friend’s birthday tonight—do you think that might help?” She glanced at Zahira. “I know it’s Ramadan, and I probably shouldn’t be out partying, but she’s a good friend…”

  “We’ll go with you,” Zahira said, with a quick look at John to confirm it. “All three of us. The vila probably won’t show up around a lot of people, so we’ll be safe in the club. On the way there and back, though…if it comes after you, we’ll be there to put a stop to it. Permanently.”

  “And if it doesn’t?” Rania asked, a hint of uncertainty slipping into her voice.

  “Then I’ll stay the night with you,” Zahira promised. “I’ll put up spirit wards so the vila won’t be able to come into your apartment.”

  “Rania!” Syrkus called.

  Rania winced. “Okay. That sounds good. Are you going to stay?”

  “I’ll go back to my place and get some things, and come pick you up after you’re done here,” Zahira said. “You should be safe until then, since there’s so many people around.”

  “And there’s no indication the vila’s ever been inside the studio,” John added. “Caleb and I will meet you at your apartment this evening. Take care of yourself, and if you get worried or change your mind, text or call Zahira immediately.”

  They left the dancers to their work. As they exited the building, Caleb said, “Well at least one good thing came out of all this.”

  “What’s that?” John asked.

  Caleb grinned. “We get to go clubbing.”

  * * *

  “Are you done?” John called as he smoothed his shirt down. It had been a while since he’d gone out—shortly after he and Caleb had first met, actually, when they’d just become a couple.

  Given
the way Caleb was acting tonight, maybe he should have made it more of a priority. There had just been so many other things to do than go out and dance.

  “Just about!” Caleb called from the bathroom down the hall. “I need you to lace me up.”

  The hell? John walked down the hall and stopped at the sight of Caleb checking himself out in the mirror.

  He looked…delicious was one word for it. Hot as hell was another. Forget fighting the vila—Caleb would be beating off women all night, and probably a few guys as well.

  Caleb wore his heavy boots—the black leather, buckles, and thick soles which made them perfect for chasing down NHEs also served well as club gear. Same for the leather pants. His light, silvery shirt looked rather familiar.

  “Is that my shirt?” John asked.

  “Yep,” Caleb said unrepentantly. “Now help me into this thing.”

  The “thing” was a black leather corset from April, the same leatherworker who made Caleb’s coats. “You could have gotten one that laced up the front,” John pointed out as he came up behind Caleb.

  “True.” Caleb leaned over, brushing his ass over the front of John’s pants. “But where’s the fun in that?”

  John laughed and went to work. There was something fucking hot about pulling the warm leather tight around Caleb’s body. And when he was done…

  Caleb turned around with a grin. “Like what you see, Starkweather?”

  “You know I do.” John rubbed at the erection rigid against his jeans. “You’re going to be a hell of a distraction tonight. We’re supposed to be working, but all I’ll be thinking of is bending you over and fucking you the moment we get home.”

  Caleb’s grin took on a sexy edge. “Well. We can’t have you too distracted. Maybe a little taste now, hmm?”

  He stepped up to John, rubbing his hand over John’s erection. John pulled him in for a kiss. Caleb popped open the button of John’s jeans, then tugged the zipper down.

  John groaned into his mouth when Caleb’s hand closed over his dick and pulled him out. “You drive me crazy,” John mumbled against Caleb’s lips.

  “It’s a short drive,” Caleb teased. Then he went to his knees.

  John leaned against the doorframe for support. Caleb tugged on his cock once or twice, before lapping up precome with his tongue. “Mmm. I love how you taste,” Caleb murmured. Then his mouth closed over John’s cock.

  It felt amazing: all warmth and wetness, and the shiver of Gray’s energy just underneath Caleb’s skin. Not manifesting—the fangs definitely got in the way of a blowjob. But still there with them.

  He looked up at the mirror, and found himself transfixed by their reflection: Caleb, dressed to fuck, on his knees, his black hair spread loose over his shoulders. John slid his hand through that hair, bunching it up, and Caleb moaned his encouragement. Caleb pulled back just long enough to say, “Fuck my mouth, Starkweather,” before taking John all the way down his throat.

  John gritted his teeth, clenched his fingers in Caleb’s hair, and did as he was told. He looked down, found Caleb gazing back up at him, brown eyes wicked as John’s dick slid over his lips. Damn, Caleb was gorgeous, and every last person in the club would be staring at him later. But he’d come home with John.

  Caleb slipped one hand up, tracing John’s thigh, before finding his balls and tugging. And that was it; John just had time to grunt a warning before he came. Caleb’s throat worked around him, swallowing hard.

  John slumped with a contented sigh. “Damn. I don’t think my legs work now.”

  “It’s just one complaint after another with you,” Caleb teased. He stood up and kissed John soundly on the mouth, tasting of come.

  “What about you?” John asked. “Just give me a second to recover, okay?”

  “Don’t worry about it. We don’t have the time. You can return the favor when we get home.” Caleb poured a drink of water from the sink. When he was done, he set down the glass but hesitated, studying himself in the mirror. His mouth pinched slightly, a pensive expression crossing his face.

  John finished tucking himself away and zipped up his jeans. “Babe? Everything all right?”

  “Yeah.” But Caleb didn’t look away from the mirror. “It’s just…weird? Different? I was never the most butch guy around anyway.”

  “I never guessed,” John said dryly. “So is this about the corset? Because it looks really hot, but if you’re not comfortable wearing it—”

  “No, I am. That’s what’s a little weird.” Caleb shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean Gray doesn’t even have a gender, even if we do call him ‘he.’ That’s our term, not his.”

  “Is there something he’d prefer?” John asked.

  “No. He doesn’t care one way or the other, honestly.” Caleb shook his head, long hair whispering over the shirt, the corset. “Gray’s been lots of different people, different genders, including in cultures that count more than two. As far as he’s concerned, it’s all mortal nonsense. He just is. And I wonder if maybe that’s affecting me somehow? Like, I could put on makeup and heels and not even think about it twice, because wearing a dress or heels or whatever is just as ordinary to Gray as anything else we humans do.”

  Huh. John chewed on his lip a moment, not certain what to say. “Well…people do change, even when they don’t have a five-thousand-year-old drakul living in their heads,” he said at last. “I mean, it might be stranger if it didn’t affect you. But…are you worried about it?”

  Because if Caleb was…there was nothing they could do. Literally nothing. He’d passed up his last chance at exorcism because he’d needed Gray’s power to save John.

  So if there was a problem…it was John’s fault, in a way.

  Caleb shook his head again and turned away from the mirror. “No. I don’t think so. And Gray’s going through changes, too. It was just something I was thinking about, that’s all.” He grabbed John’s hand, twining their fingers tightly together. “Come on. I want to see you shake your ass.”

  Chapter 7

  Gray was on high alert the entire time they walked with Rania from her apartment to the club. They passed Marion Square, which seemed like a place the vila might ambush them, after its last two attacks. But Gray didn’t so much as catch a whiff of demonic scent.

  “There is still the walk back,” Gray suggested hopefully. “Perhaps it will attack us then.”

  Caleb’s teeth burned with Gray’s eagerness. Dial it back. I know you want some mayhem, but the rest of us would just as soon catch the vila without bloodshed.

  Rania wore a tank top and jeans. Zahira had on a bright pink hijab, a loose, long-sleeved sparkly top, and jeans. Caleb suspected her Glock was holstered beneath the loose shirt.

  Caleb had hoped the club would be relatively quiet since it was a weeknight, but once inside, they had to practically shove their way through the press of bodies. The smell of sweat and booze hit him like a wall, accompanied by the nasty reek of douchebro body spray. The thumping bass punished sensitive ears, and he could feel the vibration in his chest. Okay, maybe clubbing wasn’t quite as fun as it had been when he wasn’t possessed.

  “We should go outside. Hunt for the vila, while the mortals are in here,” Gray suggested.

  We need to stay close to Rania. Just in case.

  They passed by the dance floor, in search of Rania’s friends. Bodies shimmied and shook, some couples practically humping each other. “We could dance with John,” Gray countered hopefully.

  We’re here to work, not get off.

  Gray receded, though not without letting Caleb feel his frustration. Caleb sighed and shook his head.

  Rania spotted her friends and hurried over. There came a quick round of introductions; Caleb forgot the names as soon as he heard them. One of the women asked if he wanted to dance, and John gave a subtle nod.

  The plan called for Zahira to stay with Rania, while Caleb and John mingled, keeping their senses open for the vila the whole time. If it got close enough to John, his exorcist’s sense would pick it up, but Gray was a lot more likely to smell it from a distance.

  Not that the vila would show up in the club, anyway. Nothing to do but kill time until the walk home.

  After the third song, Caleb started to sympathize with Gray. Half of Rania’s friends wanted to dance with him, and he’d gotten angry looks from some of the men in the club. One guy yelled that the gay club was a few blocks over, but Caleb ignored him. Christ, this wasn’t some country music dive bar where he’d get his ass kicked; plenty of other people were decked out in leather and corsets, too. Although to be fair, most of those were women.