Darkness Devours (Dark Angels 3)

“But this is not a Directorate investigation.”

“Not officially, but that doesn’t mean she won’t follow protocol when it comes to keeping a record of everything—and everyone—that goes in or out of that room.” Even if no one else ever saw the recordings.

I opened the door, then ducked under the tape. A soft whirring greeted my appearance, and I looked up to see the black, oval-shaped recording device hovering about a foot or so above our heads. I gave it a cheery wave, showed it my driver’s license, then turned my attention to the room.

And I really wished I hadn’t.

The room itself was basic—a bed, a dresser, an old TV, and a small bathroom that contained all the necessary facilities—shower, basin, and toilet.

But the walls were smeared with dried blood, and there were recent stains on the brown carpet—stains that hinted at human body parts. One was in the shape of a leg, another a foot, then part of an arm, and god knows what else. Thankfully, all the bits had been gathered up and, from the smell, now lay under plastic sheeting on the bed. Oddly enough, I couldn’t smell putrefaction, just death and aged meat. Maybe vampires didn’t rot like the rest of us when they died.

What I couldn’t sense was Green’s ghost. Maybe this death had been ordained, which meant a reaper had been here at the time of his death to guide his soul onward. I glanced at Azriel and he nodded in confirmation.

“And unfortunately, too much time has lapsed since his death for there to be any lingering sense of the creature who caused it.”

“If it is a spirit rather than a demon, would you still have been able to sense it?”

“If we’d been early enough, yes.”

Well, that was something of a relief, if only because it meant that if this thing decided to attack us, he’d sense its approach before it actually got to us. My gaze fell on the black plastic mound and my stomach turned. As much as I didn’t want to look at the remnants of Jake Green, I knew that I had to. Because of Hunter, and because I needed to see if there was anything that might give us a clue as to what had done this. Hunter may have had guardians in here and might already know the answer to that particular question—especially if this was just another test to prove my worth—but that only meant it was more important than ever that I do whatever I needed to do to see an end to this case.

I stepped closer and tried not to breathe too deeply. Jake Green might not be rotting, but he was still dead, and that was never a pleasant thing, not even at the best of times. I reached back for Amaya and carefully slid her point under the nearest edge of plastic. She spat yellow sparks that suggested her distaste was as great as mine, but thankfully she didn’t set anything alight.

I folded back the plastic. Jake Green was little more than a mound of parts. One leg, several arm parts, bits of bone and torso and trailing innards, and finally, his head. Thankfully, that was facing away from me. I had no desire to move around to check it out.

“God,” I muttered, revulsion giving my voice a harsher edge. “This thing didn’t just eat him. It tore him apart.”

“The state of the body does suggest there was a feeding frenzy.” Azriel moved around me to squat in front of the head. “Which is not the usual modus operandi for a Wendigo.”

I sheathed Amaya, then rubbed my arms, trying to chase away the gathering chill. “What about a Rakshasa?”

He shrugged. “I do not know enough about them to confirm or deny the probability. But given the anger of the ghosts, it is always possible that the creature who did this is merely echoing how the whores all died in that room.”

“So they did die in a vampire feeding frenzy?”

His gaze met mine. “You know they did.”

“No, I suspected they did. There’s a difference.”

“As you often say to me, only by a matter of degrees.” He reached out and pressed his fingers on either side of the severed head.

“Oh god,” I said, the revulsion curling through me suddenly getting stronger. “You’re not going to try to capture his last memories, are you?”

He glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. “You have seen me do this before. Why the distaste now?”

I waved a hand at the remnants. “Because of this—the way he died. I really don’t want to see it in all its gory detail.”

“Then do not look.” His gaze flicked past me, and I knew without looking that he was studying the recording device that hovered just above my right shoulder. He added silently, I do this for you—to help solve this case quickly so that we can get back to more urgent matters—rather than possessing any real interest in knowing the details of this death.

The problem is, the more urgent matter is at a standstill until my father contacts me or Jak comes up with something.

Which does not alter the need to get this task over with just in case either event happens.

I acknowledged the truth of this with a half shrug, and he returned his attention to Green’s head. Valdis’s sides began to run with blue fire as Azriel closed his eyes. Energy surged, sharp and almost bitter in the small room, and in the space between Azriel’s hands pictures began to flow—flickering images that didn’t move quite fast enough to blur—meaning the gist of his death, all the blood and gore and body bits flying, was there to see in living color.

I bit my lip, swallowing heavily against the bile that rose in my throat. When the images finally died, I sighed in silent relief. Azriel removed his hands but didn’t immediately get up. He bowed his head for a moment and spoke, the words musical and oddly captivating. Saying a prayer for the soul that had already moved on.

Finally, he rose. “It is definitely a Rakshasa, and that really is not good news.”