Page 17 of Soulmarked
“First responder nearly had a breakdown,” Rodriguez continued. “Said the lights kept flickering, said she felt like something was watching her. Thought she was losing it until backup arrived and felt the same thing.”
I crouched down, examining the underside of the desk. There, barely visible unless you knew what to look for, were symbols scratched into the wood. Ancient things, the kind that made your eyes hurt if you looked at them too long.
“Three cameras have malfunctioned already,” one of the crime scene techs said, approaching with her kit as I reached for my phone. “I wouldn't bother with that.”
She was right. I'd noticed electronics acting strange since entering the building. Instead, I pulled out my field notebook and a pencil, old-school investigative techniques never failed.
“Smart move,” she nodded, watching as I carefully pressed a sheet of paper against the symbols and made a rubbing. The graphite gradually revealed the intricate patterns as I worked. The symbols seemed to resist even this method, the lines wavering slightly as I traced them, but I managed to capture a decent reproduction.
The tech gestured to some discoloration on the wall behind the desk. “And wait till you see this. Blood spatter analysis makes no sense. It's like the drops moved against gravity.”
I studied the pattern, remembering similar cases I'd marked as “unusual” in my private files. Cases that officially remained unsolved because the truth wouldn't fit in any report.
“Any signs of forced entry?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“None,” Rodriguez said. “Security system was armed, cameras working fine until 3 AM when they all went dark for exactly seven minutes. When they came back online...” He gestured to the body.
Something about the timing nagged at me. Seven minutes. Seven symbols under the desk. The number had power in certain circles.
“What did Sullivan do at Goldman?” I asked.
The tech consulted her notes. “Managed their acquisition division. Actually, he was involved in some big merger that's supposed to be announced next week. Phoenix Pharmaceuticals buying up some biotech startup.”
My blood ran cold. Phoenix. The same company that kept appearing in my case files.
“I need his laptop and phone,” I said.
“Good luck with that,” the tech replied.
I pulled latex gloves from my pocket, more for show than necessity. Whatever had killed Sullivan hadn't left the kind of evidence these people were equipped to find.
“Has anyone checked his calendar?” I asked. “Any unusual meetings in the past few days?”
Rodriguez nodded. “Assistant said he had a late dinner meeting last night at Purgatory. You know, that new club downtown?”
The same club where I'd encountered the vampire and Sean. This couldn't be coincidence.
“Right,” I straightened up. “I want everything electronic bagged and tagged. Full tox screen on the body, though I doubt you'll find anything. And get me surveillance from every camera within three blocks.”
“You think this connects to something bigger?” Rodriguez asked.
“Let's just say I have a theory.”
Back in Sullivan's office, I sat at his desk, pulling out my laptop. The crime scene techs had given up on the electronics, claiming everything was fried, but when I powered up the victim's computer, it hummed to life instantly.
“How did you...” One of the techs started.
I shrugged. “Lucky touch.”
The truth was more complicated, involving years of learning to work around supernatural interference, but that wasn't something I could explain in an official report.
Sullivan's browser history told a story of growing desperation. Research into local folklore, ancient protection rituals, myths about creatures that fed on life force. The deeper I dug, the clearer the pattern became. This was a man searching for answers.
His email inbox was worse. Dozens of messages to his wife, timestamped at odd hours, describing shadows moving when they shouldn't, figures glimpsed in mirrors that disappeared when he turned around. Each one more frantic than the last.
“Sir?” A young officer appeared in the doorway. “Found something weird in the financials. Large cash withdrawals, all to someone called 'The Guardian.' No real name, no paper trail.”
I was about to respond when a book caught my eye, an old volume on protective magic, hidden behind finance reports. As I pulled it out, a business card fluttered to the floor. The same symbols from under the desk were printed on it in silver ink.
