Chapter 2

 

 

THE LARGE salmon-colored warehouse, surrounded by pristine green lawns and a slowly emptying parking lot, was definitely a church. This style had cropped up over the past three decades, with the evangelical movement growing faster than traditionally constructed churches could keep up with. From the bulletin board out front warning of hellfire and damnation, he figured it was the kind of place where people truly feared God.

The whimper beside him was a reflection of his own unease.

“It’s fine. Some older demons avoid churches on principle, but they’re always decent places to find a cup of coffee on a Sunday morning. It’s not the kind of place we’re normally summoned, but what’s the worst that could happen?” he asked, glancing down at his partner, who was currently a black pug. Louise snuffled and almost growled.

Mal closed his eyes and took a deep breath, noting the various scents on the air. Car exhaust, a choking backdrop that life in the city had forced him to adapt to, along with people, coffee, and some kind of baked goods.

Eugene was there, although he smelled healthier than he had the last time Mal had done a job for him. His shithead son had tagged along too. And underneath it all was the lingering scent that had set Louise on edge.

“Smells like an incubus,” he informed her. “The whole place is saturated with the smell.”

He’d parked in the corner of the parking lot, far away from the well-dressed families shuffling to their cars, and waited for the crowds to clear.

Louise was restless. She ran in a circle before she shivered, then looked up at him expectantly. He picked her up, supporting her hind legs on his arm so she could relax, and strolled to the front of the church, letting her scent the air as he walked. When they reached the door, a guy in a pair of slacks and a dress shirt welcomed him.

“Always a pleasure to see a new face. I’m afraid we’re between services at the moment; the next one won’t be until noon. And even then, Reverend Luhmann won’t be ministering at all today. He’s who everybody comes to see, but he’s got an important meeting this morning. Reverend Thorton is filling in, doing a service at noon. He’s always eager to chat with people when they’re considering joining our congregation, to welcome them in person.”

“I’m here because Eugene Barnett asked me to consult on a private matter.”

“Oh, you’re the one Reverend Luhmann’s waiting for. Help yourself to some coffee, if you’d like, and I’ll let him know you’re here. Oh, but I’m afraid you’ll have to leave your dog outside.”

Mal forced himself to keep smiling. He hated anyone who wasn’t a dog person. “That’s fine,” he managed. “I’ll just take her out to the car.”

Instead, he took her down the steps and around the outside corner of the building. “I need you with me,” he said to Louise as he set her down. “I know it sucks, but your senses are going to be sharper than mine, even as a human. I’ll go get you a dress.” He hurried back to the car and opened the trunk. Aside from his sketchbooks, his trunk was home to his bags and Louise’s tiny wardrobe of two dresses in a style that hadn’t been made or sold since the 1970s. Since she seldom had occasion to wear them, her clothes didn’t wear out. He brought one of the neatly folded flower-print dresses and a pair of ladies’ loafers back to the church with him, then positioned himself between Louise and the parking lot.

She whimpered, curled in on herself, and then stood up. And kept standing up. Her fur vanished, her tiny paws grew into delicate fingers, and her limbs elongated.

When he’d found her a century before, she’d been a rottweiler, and too sweet for the fighting pits she was bred for. Her owner decided to make money by letting other dogs rip her apart. Mal had sensed a spark of hellhound blood in her, evidence that some of his kind had no qualms about fucking anyone or anything. It had been no effort at all to shift her into something smaller to heal her wounds. And then something larger to rip her former master to pieces. She’d learned to shift on her own over the years, even managing to be passably human for a few hours at a time.

“This is pointless,” she said, tugging the dress over her head and adjusting it quickly. “Shoes? You could just shift that human into a hound and be done with it, you know.”

“He’s just doing his job. I’m not turning him into a hellhound for it, that’d be rude. Shall we?”

She stepped forward awkwardly, taking his arm for balance. She almost stumbled a few times as they made their way up the steps, but he caught her each time. They only had about half an hour before her heightened senses faded, but it was better than walking in blind. This time the usher who opened the door just nodded with a smile and waved them toward a table set up with coffeepots, pamphlets, and trays of baked goods. “Reverend Luhmann will be just a moment.”

Louise tugged him toward the table, closing her eyes and taking long deep breaths. “The scent is months old but still lingering. The tablecloth, the trays…. Every inch of it.”

“The table?”

“Yes.”

“Huh. All I smell is cinnamon.”

The usher approached them, smiling brightly. “Those are my wife’s cookies. I’m not all that talented in the kitchen, but she tries to make something special so we’re not stuck with whatever I can find at Costco.”

“They smell wonderful,” Mal said carefully.

“I’ll be sure to pass that along. They’re nothing like Reverend Smith’s, of course. He was a blessing in so many ways.”

“Reverend Smith?”

“One of our youngest ministers. He was called away on a mission to Belize about six months ago.”

“Mission?” Louise asked, glancing between Mal and the usher.

“Yes, a lot of the younger members of the church spend a few months there doing volunteer work. We miss him, but I can’t imagine anyone who could do more good than him.”

“Sounds like a special young man.”

A slight blush stained the man’s cheeks. “He’s amazing. Technically he’s still studying to be ordained, but he’s as driven to serve as anyone I’ve seen. Together, I’ve seen him and Reverend Luhmann… well, perform miracles. There’s no other word for it.” The man shuffled toward them, digging his wallet out of his back pocket. He flipped through it before showing them a wallet-sized school portrait of a little girl. “My daughter had meningitis last year. She was so sick, and after putting her through the pain of a spinal tap, the doctors told us antibiotics wouldn’t help, that it was viral. They expected her to recover, but it’d take months. Well, sometimes the Lord provides through doctors, and sometimes he takes a more direct approach. We weren’t even members of the church at the time, but we’d heard the stories, so we brought her here. Reverend Luhmann and the entire congregation prayed with us, and after the prayer, she said she felt like her headache just flowed out of her body. Her fever was gone in minutes, and she could lift her head and move her neck like she’d never been sick.”

“Your daughter was healed?” he asked. What kind of crazy had they wandered into? The incubus’s scent lingered on the snack table, but there was no chance in hell the usher was a demon-spawn.

“The Lord healed my daughter,” the usher said, nodding. “I admit, I had strayed before. I’d always doubted, and I certainly sinned. But seeing her cured, touching her forehead and feeling her fever drop, it was one of the most moving experiences of my life. I have no doubt the Lord was working through us all that day. But thanks to Reverend Smith, New Life Ministries was almost as well-known for our cookies as we were for the miracles the Lord works within these walls.”

Mal didn’t know how to respond to that; the man’s enthusiasm was so strong Mal could taste it. “All that and he bakes?”

“I know it seems a little girly, but there are all those shows on Food Network about men who cook these days, so it’s not like there’s anything wrong with it.”

“I didn’t….” He shook his head and forced himself to smile. “You’re absolutely right. I didn’t think about what I was saying. Is Mr. Barnett going to be much longer?” he asked. “We’ve come a long way.”

“Reverend Luhmann should be out shortly. Feel free to explore the sanctuary, if you’d like.”

Louise tugged him through the vestibule into what looked more like a cheap lecture hall than a church. There were no pews, just long rows of hundreds of folding chairs, and the floor was concrete. At the front of the church was a large stage with a backdrop of white velvet. A gigantic bare cross hung in the center of the velvet curtain, the only decoration in the entire room.

Fortunately they had the place to themselves.

Louise closed her eyes and let her still-potent sense of smell guide her, but she barely made it halfway across the room.

“Mr. Pelle, so glad you could help us with this,” a friendly, almost charming voice called from the far side of the stage.

Mal cringed at the familiar scent, a mixture of expensive cologne, adrenaline, and testosterone. The smell was as close to that of a predator as Mal had ever detected from a human. He wasn’t a demon, Mal knew, but Corbin Barnett had made Mal uneasy since they’d first met when Corbin was a teenager.

“Mr. Barnett.”

Corbin’s eyes settled on Louise in surprise. “And your little pet. Glad to see you’ve tried to make yourself look presentable,” he said with a condescending glance at her messy dark hair and antique dress. “My father and Mr. Luhmann are waiting.” He turned away, leading them toward a small corridor off to the side.

Louise wrapped her hands around his arm tight enough that he could feel her nails.

He patted her hand, trying to be reassuring. “I know,” he whispered.

“Is everything all right?” Barnett asked, holding the door so they could go through ahead of him.

“Everything is fine,” Mal said, slowing his gait so Louise could get in front of him. He stayed close behind her, putting himself between her and Barnett as they headed into a utilitarian hall. He forced himself to stay calm, kept his pulse and breathing under control. If this was some kind of trap, he could use their bond to shift Louise into something small enough to slip away. “Your father knows I prefer to deal with him personally, doesn’t he?”

“Sooner or later, working for me will be your only option. However, if you manage this job, you might be able to keep my father alive and kicking a little longer. Right back here,” Corbin said, gesturing toward an open door just down the hall.

Louise’s anxiety skyrocketed as he led them into a tiny room made up of modular walls without a single window. The cross dominating one wall was the only ornament, massive and intimidating in front of two tiny tables. Two well-dressed older men were waiting, sitting on opposite sides of a regular desk that looked as though it was put in the room as an afterthought. One of them was Eugene Barnett, the man who had made it possible for Mal to have something of a normal life since his exile. Or at least to earn a living hunting the dregs of humanity.

Generally, Eugene was a decent guy to work for. He didn’t bother with the blood contracts people dabbling in the arcane used to rely on, so Mal wasn’t bound and forced into servitude, and he never had to do anything too horrible. Getting a new identity and getting paid made it a decent gig.

The second man in the room smelled of excitement, confidence, and a smugness that Mal was used to noting as he walked through Times Square. This was a man who was not only accustomed to lying, but who delighted in it. He was in his late fifties, a little overweight, and had a welcoming smile that invited you to trust him. “You must be the private investigator I’ve heard so much about,” he said, hopping up from his chair. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Reverend Adam Luhmann, founder of New Life Ministries. Mr. Barnett insisted that you were the very best person for this case.”

“Malpheus Pelle,” he said, nodding rather than shaking the man’s hand. “And my partner, Louise,” he said, maneuvering so he could keep all three of them in his field of vision.

“I’m so glad you could come all the way out here to help us. Every time I made discreet inquiries about an investigator who might… be comfortable working with things that are a little strange, they looked at me like I was crazy. When Mr. Barnett suggested you’ve got experience with this sort of thing, I couldn’t believe my luck.”

“I doubt I have the experience you’re looking for,” he said honestly. “I tend to work for bail bondsmen. I don’t catch cheating spouses, acquire incriminating photographs, or any of that other shit.”

“You’re the only one who can deal with this,” Eugene insisted.

“I hope so, anyway,” Luhmann said, grinning. “I needed someone who wouldn’t balk at dealing with, well, an unusual case. You see, one of my ministry students has disappeared. He’s spent years dedicated to serving the good people of this church, and after an… an episode, of sorts, he vanished. We’ve looked everywhere for him, but it’s been six months and I’m worried he might be in trouble.” A hint of uncertainty and fear seeped into the man’s scent.

Six months meant they wanted him to find the minister who was supposedly doing volunteer work in Belize. The incubus. “Episode?” he asked.

Luhmann smiled and folded his hands together. “Our Jory is special. Not in a bad way, heavens no, but he has a remarkable gift, and sometimes it’s such a burden that he breaks from reality. He suffers from bouts of paranoia and all manner of problems—he wasn’t in his right mind.”

“Just paranoia? Does he suffer from hallucinations or delusions?” Mal asked. Luhmann hesitated for a moment, long enough to assure Mal that if this kid actually had problems, Luhmann never bothered to get him professional help. “Did he see or hear things that weren’t there? Or did he believe things that were impossible?” The incubus might have occasionally let things slip that normal humans would call insane. He wasn’t going to specifically ask, though. Outing anyone as a demon was dangerous.

“He believed I tried to hurt him,” Adam said solemnly. “I would never harm a hair on that boy’s head. I all but raised him as my own, after his dear foster mother couldn’t manage.”

Mal narrowed his eyes. “Raised him?” That couldn’t be right.

“He came to me at fourteen. The Lord guided me to protect and nurture that boy from the start. For four years he served as a novice in my ministry in St. Louis, dedicating himself to Jesus. He’s an adult now, but he’s still like a son to me.”

That could not be possible. Demon-spawn being born now were all far removed from their pure ancestors, even among the species who weren’t inclined to mate outside their own kind. The blood lingered, the magic and power binding with their mostly human DNA. But this incubus was strong enough that his power lingered around the church.

“How could he have been that young?” Mal asked, mostly to himself.

“The Lord works through young and old alike, and Jory’s truly touched by the Lord. He has the ability to help the sick and wounded, to sense whatever might be wrong with them, and to lift the burden of their illness so that he can demonstrate the Lord’s glory here on earth.”

Mal took a deep breath, surprised to note that the man smelled like he was mostly telling the truth. He forced himself to smile, curious despite the absurdity of it. “He heals people? Mr. Barnett, I know you tend to be a skeptic. Have you considered that your friend here might be the victim of a hoax? Sleight-of-hand tricks aren’t that hard to master. I bet he’s a charming guy. How many of the people who’ve sworn he’s healed them are women?”

Luhmann seemed to consider it. “I appreciate your concern and skepticism, but I don’t need you to expose him as a fraud. I know he’s not. No parlor trick can heal a fracture instantly.”

“But a broken bone can be faked.”

“It was my own broken wrist. We’re not looking for you to discredit him, just to find him and bring him home.”

He sought out Eugene’s gaze, trying to figure out what the hell his angle was in this. “Mr. Barnett, if you’re expecting this guy to be able to heal you, odds are you’re going to be disappointed.”

“My pulmonary specialist can provide evidence to the contrary,” Eugene said seriously. “I’ve been to the best doctors in the country, Mr. Pelle. No one could help me. No one, that is, until Mr. Smith.”

“I reserve the right to say I told you so. Did he take any money with him when he left?” Mal asked, keeping his tone thoughtful. “If there’s anything in the church account records that might indicate theft, we could get the police to help find him.”

“No!” Luhmann shouted, earning a glare from Eugene.

Mal smirked.

“No. Nothing like that. Which is why I’m worried. He didn’t take anything. Not his clothes, his books, or any money. He vanished.”

“Did you report his disappearance to the police?”

“He’s a twenty-year-old young man,” Luhmann chuckled. “They said they can’t waste time looking for someone who’s probably gone off to party for a month unless there was some kind of evidence that he was in danger.”

“You said it’s been six months,” Mal noted. “Have you tried reporting him as a missing person since then? And is there any chance he’s actually in Belize?”

Luhmann turned his hands over, not quite fidgeting but close. “Belize?”

“Yeah. The place you told members of the congregation he’d gone to as a missionary… so no one who noticed his absence would be concerned enough to contact the police.”

Eugene snorted and rolled his eyes. “You should quit while you’re ahead, Reverend. And Mr. Pelle, you can stop torturing him. He’s the only one in this room who likes to pretend that he’s a legitimate man of God, so the only thing you’re accomplishing is making him feel uncomfortable. Funny as that is, it’s a waste of time. The only thing that matters is that I want Jory Smith found, and you can find him. He’s been missing for six months. He walked away from a hospital in Rochester and hasn’t been seen since. He has no family whatsoever and a Missouri driver’s license. All of the information we’ve got is in there,” he said, nodding to his son, who produced a thin manila folder. “I’ll cover your expenses, obviously, and provide you with a complete set of new paperwork when you’re done.”

“I can track him down, but this is going to cut into my day job too. I’ll need to be reimbursed for lost income, not just expenses.”

“You expect to be paid more?” Corbin scoffed. “Do you have any idea how much it costs to create a new identity? To make sure everything from a birth certificate to school records are on file where they’re supposed to be?”

“I was under the impression that this was mutually beneficial,” Mal said simply. “But if we can’t come to an agreement, I’ll just go.”

“There’s no need for that. How much do you need?” Eugene asked.

“Ten grand to get started. That should cover the cost of driving all the way out here and expenses for the next couple of weeks,” Mal said, ignoring Corbin completely because he knew it would piss him off. “Of course, I will email you progress reports, along with a weekly or daily expense report, whatever you want. When the case is finished, I’ll deduct my pay and refund any remaining money.”

Eugene laughed, but the laughter stopped short as he gasped. He cleared his throat, then took a deep breath, his fingers splayed over his chest. “I’ll give you five to cover your trip out here, and ten for the remainder of the case. If it takes over a month, I’ll transfer you more. If it takes much longer than that… then there may not be much of a point.”

“Now, wait a minute,” Luhmann said, shifting nervously. “How do we even know he can deal with this? You assured me that he was uniquely qualified, but so far he’s just tried to debunk everything, which I’m sure anyone can do.”

Eugene smirked. “Mr. Pelle?”

“Honestly, since you only want to know his whereabouts, a regular private investigator might be able to help you,” Mal explained, grinning. “So how about I head back to New York and you give that a try?”

“Mr. Pelle,” Eugene said, his tone becoming a bit more serious.

Mal sighed. “Fine. You’re right about him being special. Not molested by the Lord, or however you put it, but different.”

“Now, see here—”

Eugene barked out a laugh. “I’ve seen what your boy can do, Reverend, but you’ve never seen anything like Mr. Pelle before.”

Luhmann sat down on the edge of the desk and smirked. “I’m an old pro at this; you can’t bullshit me.”

Mal met Eugene’s gaze, quietly asking him how far he’d like Mal to take this. Eugene waved indulgently.

“Louise,” he said, smiling, “would you be so kind as to show this nice gentlemen what you really look like?”

She glared at him. “I knew you were going to do this,” she grumbled, gesturing at her human skin. She slipped out of her shoes and kicked them toward him.

“I know. I’ll make it up to you,” he promised.

“You’ll stop that one from shooting me, that’s what you’ll do,” she said, pointing an accusing finger at Corbin.

Luhmann’s tone became placating. “Madam, no one here has a gun.”

Corbin fidgeted.

“Don’t shoot her,” Eugene ordered.

“Mr. Luhmann.” Mal glanced at the old man. “And Mr. Barnett, of course,” he said, looking at Corbin. “My partner is going to do something that might startle you a little. She will not hurt you. But if you try to harm her in any way, I’ll kill you.”

“With my blessing,” Eugene added.

Louise unbuttoned the top few buttons of her dress and let it drop to the floor. She never bothered with underwear, treating clothes as more of an embarrassment than nudity, so she stood before them naked, angry, and a little bored.

Then she doubled over and gasped. Beneath her skin, bone and muscle moved, organs were squished and rearranged, and joints turned over and cracked as her body rearranged itself. Her arms grew longer, her legs warped and twisted. When she growled, her canines were longer, and soon her face morphed and her teeth grew longer still, her fingers retracted into claws, and her body began to expand. A haze of dust circled around her as she drew matter from the air, the floor, and the concrete and soil beneath their feet. Some of the dust collected on her skin, joining the quickly sprouting black fur that covered her body. More particles merged into her being, filling out muscle and bone where she lacked the materials to shape it herself.

When she was finished, Luhmann and Corbin were frozen, terrified. Eugene was smiling, but he’d seen this all before.

She stepped toward Mal as a massive black hellhound, easily weighing as much as him and so tall at the shoulder that she came up to his waist. She’d allowed the fire in her eyes to flare red too. The floor where she’d stood a moment ago had become a hollowed-out bowl. He set his hand on her scruff protectively.

The movement seemed to break the humans out of their stunned silence. Luhmann shifted so far away from Louise that he slipped off the desk, barely landing on his feet before he stepped to the side to keep the desk between himself and Louise. Corbin moved his hands toward his jacket, but his father held up his hand, stopping him.

“I made myself clear,” Eugene snapped.

“Mr. Luhmann,” Mal interrupted, “my partner and I are good at tracking interesting people. It doesn’t matter how far he runs, what name he goes by, or how many resources he can marshal to stay in hiding, I can track him. You can hire a regular private investigator if you want; it’s up to you.”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous!” Luhmann snapped, apparently forgetting his fear.

Eugene sighed. “He hired a gentleman named Derek Grant to track the boy down initially. He works… worked for several local law firms, finding people to serve lawsuits to and such. I tried to tell the good reverend that I had a better candidate, but he insisted. No one has heard from Grant in over a month.”

“At all? Have you reported him missing?” Mal asked, letting his canines extend a little. “You hired some poor shmuck who came highly recommended, had loads of experience, and charged a fortune. And you sent him to his death because you didn’t have any idea what you’re actually dealing with.”

“Hang on there, Jory would never hurt anyone,” Luhmann argued. “He wouldn’t even know how.”

“If that’s the case, then this Derek Grant guy is probably just a con who took off with your money, and you should report the matter to the police.”

Eugene laughed at the stricken expression on Luhmann’s face.

“I know what you’re hiring me to hunt, and I know that presuming he’s harmless was probably the last mistake Derek Grant ever made,” Mal continued, addressing Eugene because he knew damn well who was in charge. “The new ID and fifteen thousand should cover it. Hopefully it won’t take more than a couple of weeks.”

“Good,” Eugene said with a soft smile.

“And just so there are no misunderstandings, you want me to retrieve him? Not kill him?”

“Find him and bring him to me,” Eugene croaked. “I need him alive.”

“Do you really think you can bring him back?” Luhmann asked.

Mal couldn’t help but laugh. “What else do you know about him? Does he have any friends? Were there any ladies in the church who were particularly fond of him? Any who might offer him a place to stay or offer to loan him a few bucks?”

“Ah….” Luhmann blushed a little. “No. He wasn’t…. He wasn’t tempted by….” He grimaced as he looked at Louise’s hulking form. “By the fairer sex. And he didn’t have any friends.”

He had to be joking. “Are you trying to say that he’s a homosexual?”

“No, he might have been tempted, but he’s a pious young man. He would never commit such a sin. He’s just antisocial.”

Another lie. Mal had never met a gay incubus, but he’d heard of the possibility.

“Okay,” he said, drawing out the word. “So when he’s tempted, he’s tempted to have sex with other men?” Mal asked. Louise trembled a little beneath his hand—her version of a laugh.

“He’s a Christian.”

Eugene sighed. “Reverend….”

“He was smart enough to keep things anonymous,” Luhmann admitted. “He went into Rochester, or even drove up to St. Paul, every couple of weeks, but just to have a bit of fun. You have to understand, his position here required him to maintain an image of utter respectability and piety, so there’s no chance he had enough of a relationship with anyone that he would go to them when he’s threatened.”

Mal narrowed his eyes, letting Luhmann’s last comment hang in the air. “When he felt threatened, you mean? I’d expect a man like you to choose his words carefully, Mr. Luhmann.”

“Yes, well….”

“What was his last known address?”

“Right here. He had a room here in the church.”

“Good. Mr. Barnett, please transfer the money into my account and Louise and I will get to work. The paperwork will be ready and waiting when I’m done?”

Eugene nodded. “Every record you might need.”

He used his smartphone to check his account and saw the transfer was already pending. “You were awfully confident I’d agree?” he asked, smirking.

“You’ve never let me down,” Eugene said, coughing. Mal grabbed Louise’s dress and shoes and followed her to the stage, where she’d smelled traces of the incubus. Reverend Luhmann and Corbin Barnett followed close behind, watching them both.

Behind the stage was a large area with tables, smaller crosses, and a large refrigerator. A wardrobe rack filled with choir robes stood next to a narrow hallway. Louise headed straight toward it. Down the hall, they passed by four small doors and stopped at the fifth, then looked at Luhmann expectantly.

“He hasn’t been here all this time…,” Luhmann said in a whisper.

“If a wolf pisses on an entire flock of sheep, the scent lingers. Open the door.”

Luhmann looked nervous, but he stepped forward with a key ring. “Allow me,” he said, opening the door and then retreating back into the hall.

The room inside might have been a dorm room. No cheap carpet softened the harsh concrete floor. A double bed with nothing but a thin blanket lined the far wall. Mal could still faintly smell the incubus, despite the stale air. A desk sat next to the bed.

“Shit,” he said, closing his eyes. Regardless of how strong the scent was in the hallway, it would be hard to pin anything down in the room.

He dug through the armoire, picking up on a subtle cinnamon scent that made him want to forget about the incubus stench altogether. Where the incubus’s scent was strong enough to command Mal’s attention from outside, this was soft and welcoming. A half-dozen identical dress shirts and slacks all carried that delicious smell. Two ties hung on the cabinet doors. The drawers beneath were filled with a tangle of socks and underwear.

“The scent is all over,” he said, breathing it in deep. The cinnamon scent washed over him, the subtle musk triggering a spark of desire. He could happily spend a few hours just sitting in the room, enjoying the smell.

Louise snapped at him.

He shook his head, trying to pull himself out of his sudden stupor. Pheromones weren’t going to make it easier for her to find anything useful. “Sorry.”

She growled, the sound less grumbly than it was when she was a pug. The men in the hall shrank back farther. Mal let her search the room and wandered toward the bed. It smelled even better, but he forced himself to search the blankets instead of burrowing into them. He lifted the thin mattress, then noted that there was nothing at all shoved beneath it.

“No hidden journal or copy of Sports Illustrated.”

On the desk sat three leather-bound Bibles and a stack of cookbooks so old and well-used that the bindings were cracking. He grabbed one that was held together by duct tape. Dozens of sheets of notebook paper had been slotted between the pages. “A Bible and cookbooks,” he said, holding up the taped-together book. “He seems to have liked The Professional Pastry Chef the most.” He held the book in both hands and inhaled deeply. “Cinnamon and vanilla. Just the books, though. The scent’s not as strong on the desk.” He tried the Bible too, chuckling when he opened the book jacket. “He’s a fantasy fan,” he said, pulling out the tattered paperback hidden inside. The other two Bibles on the desk hid science fiction novels, and all three of them had library bar codes taped to the back covers.

He tucked the cookbook under his arm, careful to keep the notes inside. Mal glanced back at the bed, then at the bare walls. Mal didn’t see a single decoration, or even a window.

“Did you clean in here? Or remove anything after he left?” Mal asked.

“I tided up,” Luhmann said simply. “But I left his belongings. Jory’s never been one for material possessions anyway.”

They finished searching the room, and then Louise led them to a small kitchen at the end of the hall. There it was hard to track anything at all with the mixed spice scents lingering in the air.

Through the rest of the church, they found a lot of places where the incubus’s smell lingered, but nothing else he seemed to have been attached to.

“All right, I think we’ve got enough to get started,” he said, holding up the manila folder and the ragged cookbook. “I’ll start with a basic records check and credit report, see if there are any recent entries under the name Jory Smith. If I can’t find a paper trail today, I’ll start looking on foot. With any luck, I’ll be able to email his location to Mr. Barnett within a week or two.”

“Go ahead and send everything to me,” Corbin said, handing over a scrap of paper with his email address on it.

“I’ll make sure to forward you a copy of each email,” Mal said, knowing damn well that Eugene would be pissed if Corbin forgot to pass along a report.

The usher who’d welcomed them to the church stared at them as they strolled out, eyes bulging as he took in Louise’s bulk, fur, and teeth. Mal smiled and waved. The moment they were out the door, Louise took off like a flash, darting to the side and into the forest.

“Is it okay?” Luhmann asked from the door.

Mal was about to take off after her, but the anxious scent from Luhmann stopped him cold. The man had been nervous when Mal had casually suggested getting the police involved, but now he reeked of the same terror that Mal had smelled when Louise shifted in his office.

He smiled and made a show of looking through the file. “She’s just going to the bathroom,” he said simply. He nodded toward the woods even though he could sense her slowly circling behind the church. “I’m sure she’ll just be a moment.”

Luhmann kept his gaze on the forest where she’d vanished, occasionally glancing toward the corner of the building. It was well over a minute before she loped back into the parking lot, circled his feet, then shifted back into a little shivering black pug.

Luhmann gaped at her. Mal closed the file and grinned. “She doesn’t fit in the car the other way. You’ll hear from us soon, Reverend.”

When they got back to the car, he tossed the file in the back seat and tucked Louise’s clothes away, then opened the door to let her get out of the wind. She jumped into the passenger seat and stared at him.

He set his hand on her scruff and rubbed her neck in gratitude.

Malpheus, they killed something back there. The incubus’s scent is all over the forest, but it’s tainted by death.

“The minister or the Barnetts?” he asked, surprised.

All three. It was faint, but I’m sure it was them.

“He wouldn’t be easy to kill,” he pointed out. “There are still impressions of him all over. He’s stronger than me. A lot stronger.”

“They want him alive, though,” he said, glancing at the door. The church parking lot was starting to fill up again.

“You know what, I’m going to go see if I can make sense of it,” he said, slipping out of his jacket. Wiggling out of clothes, he struggled to stay partly hidden in the car. After he got out of the car, he shifted into a German shepherd and ran. Normally he waited a moment for the world to come back into focus, but he was pretty sure his car was being watched. As he leapt into the underbrush, he took a few deep breaths, letting the smell of fresh pine, decomposing leaves, and growing things fill him.

In between the pines, the scent of the incubus wove through the trees, getting stronger as he moved deeper into the forest. Finding the area Louise told him about, he realized that someone had been left there, alive but dying. Smith’s distinct cinnamon scent smelled sick and vile. He smelled the other demon, and tar, oil, smoke, and blood. He couldn’t judge which scents came first.

Far away, he heard a stick break. His heart raced, an instant adrenaline rush as his hellhound skin remembered days spent running and hunting without a care in the world. But this wasn’t a deer stepping on a branch. Someone was in the forest with him. He slipped into the underbrush and crept down to wait and watch.

“Just look,” Luhmann’s voice called from the edge of the forest, near the back of the church.

“You’re being paranoid,” Corbin Barnett said, stomping into the forest. “The area has been exposed to the elements for months; I doubt there’s even a scent left. And even if there was, we’ve got that dog on a tight enough leash that he wouldn’t say a word, even if he cared. A demon can’t just back out of a contract.”

With a whoosh that might have been the wind, the leaves in front of him spiraled up off the ground. A bird sang above him and the rest of the sounds of the forest resumed, as if everything around him had been holding its breath.

“I’m telling you, we can’t let it find out!”

Corbin stumbled as he walked down the trail and into the small spot where Mal suspected they’d dumped Smith. Corbin spotted him in the bushes easily enough, meeting his gaze with a cold stare.

“There’s nothing here!” Corbin shouted, turning around quickly.

“If he finds out…. You need to go after him,” Luhmann insisted.

Corbin sighed and began to walk back toward the church. “He’s more of a monster than my father, Reverend, and that takes effort. He offered to bring that punk back in pieces,” he said, his voice fading as he moved farther away. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

As soon as Mal was confident he could move without alerting them, he broke from the bushes and ran, skimming the forest edge.

Once he was back in his car and had wrestled his clothes back on, Louise headbutted his upper arm across the center console.

“Eugene’s brat came back with Luhmann, looking for me. I don’t think they actually tried to kill him, because the whole area smelled like sickness. And like a crazy strong incubus too, but I’m still not sure….”

Is an incubus really so bad? You made it sound like some kind of killing machine.

Louise wasn’t Hel-born. The trace of demonic blood inside of her hadn’t even manifested until he’d awoken it. “Old lessons are hard to shake off,” he said, thinking about the rigid pecking order he’d grown up with. “In the four kingdoms, demons constantly have to fight for rank and status. Hellhounds are seldom considered worthy of even competing. We’re expected to serve the higher-ranking demons of the courts, willingly or by being bound to one of the court lords and their hunt masters.

“In Hel, the demon clans didn’t mix. Over the last hundred years here, I think I’ve run into virtually every type of demon living in the United States. Full-blooded demons won’t lower themselves to our level, even to chat, but the folks with mixed blood are generally nice enough. But every incubus-spawn I’ve ever met has been annoying as hell. Gorgeous and dripping with sex appeal, but annoying. And I can’t imagine a half-blood cambion will be any better.”

Louise scoffed.

“One more reason I’m better off spending the rest of my life on earth.”

If he was going to stay on earth as anything except an animal, he needed to make a living. Bail bond companies filed tax forms electronically now, and they were processed in an instant. He’d tried giving one company a fake ID he’d bought on the streets, but that fell through because the social security number he’d given them technically belonged to a dead man. Mal wasn’t interested in an arcane contract for someone’s soul, but a social security number he could rattle off without worry was worth some trouble, and this job could give him that.

She grumbled. We’re helping people who botched a murder track down their victim so they can finish the job.

“Eugene was telling the truth about wanting him alive. Of course, he didn’t seem to consider everything that entails. I’ve got to check with local cops. I’ll have to tell them a bit about this whole mess just to make sure he hasn’t been picked up for theft or something. And if they start looking into this so-called church after I talk to them, I’ve still only done my job.”

Louise huffed, satisfied, and plopped down in the seat.

 

 

MAL AND Louise spent almost a week searching the surrounding area and nearby Rochester, keeping an eye on Smith’s almost nonexistent credit report. Eventually Mal decided he might as well cheat and tracked down the home address of the PI Luhmann had hired first. Derek Grant seemed to live alone, and there was enough mail crammed into his box that Mal was able to find more than enough bank statements to track his movements, at least. From the places Grant had made debit card purchases, Mal tracked him west along the interstate, through the vast stretch of plains and occasional farms in North Dakota and eastern Montana, and finally into the Rocky Mountains.

As they were coming out of the mountains, a distant power began to tickle at the back of his mind. He had to pull over a couple times because the energy saturating the air was so thick it was heady, spiking his blood pressure and setting all of his senses on edge.

Louise stared at him from the passenger seat, an unspoken question in her eyes.

“There’s something here,” he admitted, dropping back into the driver’s seat. “Something a hell of a lot stronger than me. It’s….” He waved his hands, drawing a blank. The power hung over the land like a thick fog the way energy blanketed the four courts of Hel. He definitely wasn’t in Hel, though, no matter how much North Dakota’s badlands had looked the part.

“This is suffocating. It might be our incubus, but if so, Eugene’s going to be disappointed. I can’t fight this.”

Louise whimpered, but he couldn’t tell if it was in miserable agreement or if she thought he was going insane.

He kept driving even though he needed to stop for coffee every chance he got. It didn’t stop the feeling that his brain was operating in a fog, but it helped. As they pulled off the highway, the feeling intensified until he felt like he was trying to swim through a pool of syrup while he drove.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost dozing off at a stoplight. When the car behind him honked, he pulled forward and looked for a parking space.

Louise stood up on the seat, fidgeting and turning in circles. She pawed at the button for the window, then stared at him and yelped. He rolled down her window obligingly and rubbed his eyes. “You’ve already got a scent?”

Louise growled at him, not actually angry but irritated.

“I know,” he said, shaking his head. “But whatever’s set up shop here, it makes me feel like I’m moving through tar.”

She turned in a circle again, then stared between him and the window.

“Okay, I’m coming.” Mal grabbed his jacket from the back seat and slipped it on, making sure his Taser was still secured in the front pocket. Before he could finish, she leapt out the window. “Wait up!” he shouted, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel while he waited for the window to close. He hopped out, leash in hand, and locked the car. Louise was sniffing between the outdoor tables at a small café, ignoring the curious looks she got from the crowd around her. A few dogs, leashed and sitting at their owners’ feet, stood up and moved toward her, but a single low growl from the tiny hellhound cowed them into absolute submission. “Louise, stop it. Come here.”

She glared at him for a moment, then trotted over and sat down long enough for him to collar her and attach a thin leash. With his wayward partner finally cooperating, he glanced at the coffee shop. Every round bistro table on the sidewalk out front was full of people, and the shop itself was packed, the line stretching out the door and snaking around the tables. The front window was painted with a cartoon-style black cat wearing a sparkling witch’s hat. The words The Black Cat were painted above the picture, with the words Pastries, Soups & Sandwiches painted below.

“I could use a latte anyway,” he muttered, picking her up and then joining the line. Even with his senses muddled, he was overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of demonic power enveloping him.

It was so much like home that it was almost comforting.

As the line inched forward, he found all of his ethereal senses overridden by the smell of the café and baked goods. His sense of smell was damn good, even as a human, but the mixture of coffee, yeast bread, chocolate, pumpkin, and butter that saturated the area was too strong. Looking around at the crowd of humans, whose conversations had lulled into a quiet murmur as most of them took in the scent, he realized he wasn’t the only one affected. Even Louise gave a contented sigh.

When he got near the counter, he spotted a head of dark brown hair and a smiling face that made him quiver. Incubus or not, Jory Smith was more beautiful in person than he had been in the photograph Barnett had given him. He was almost as tall as Mal himself, and he moved with a quiet confidence that left Mal panting. Beneath his crisp white apron, he had on an old pair of jeans and a dark sweater.

If Mal didn’t know for a fact that the guy had been working in a leadership position at a cult in a pink warehouse six months ago, he wouldn’t have believed it. When it was his turn and Jory Smith smiled at him, the world fell away around him. He swallowed hard, readily admitting to himself that this case might be the death of him in more ways than one.