Page 9 of Soulmarked
The sigils seemed to writhe slightly at the contact, though maybe that was just the bar's poor lighting. Or maybe I needed to ease up on the whiskey. Probably both.
“Could be anything.” Lex's voice carried careful skepticism. “Cult markings, dark magic gone wrong, hell, even a bad tattoo. What makes you so sure it's demonic?”
“Besides the fact that the wolf said 'the prince rises' right before I killed him?”
“And you're sure that's what you heard?” Lex's smile held more doubt than humor. “No chance you were maybe seeing what you wanted to see? Hearing what you expected to hear?”
“Been hunting long enough to know demon marks when I see them.” My voice carried an edge sharp enough to cut. “This isn't my first rodeo with infernal sigils. And unlike some people, I don't need glasses yet.”
“Yeah, but a prince?” Lex shook his head, though he did pull out his phone. “That's a big claim, even for you. Princes don't just show up in Manhattan marking werewolves. There'd be signs, omens, hell, half the supernatural underground would be talking about it. Maybe weather patterns, electrical storms, cattle deaths, you know, the whole apocalyptic shebang.”
I rolled my shoulder, feeling the fresh wounds from the fight protesting. Pain was settling in like an old enemy, familiar and unwelcome. After fifteen years of hunting, you'd think I'd be used to it. But some nights hit harder than others, and this one was shaping up to be particularly interesting.
“Look, I'll ask around,” Lex muttered, scrolling through incoming messages. His expression suddenly shifted, that dangerous glint returning to his eyes. “Oh, now this is interesting. Got a fresh vampire sighting downtown, near Purgatory. Probably nothing compared to your demon prince, but might be worth checking out.”
I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Vamps are a dime a dozen in this city, especially around the clubs. Almost as common as rats or politicians.”
“Sure, sure. But this one got spooked. Some CITD agent was already watching the scene.”
That got my attention. The Central Intelligence and Threat Division didn't usually mess with our world. They were the type to explain away monster attacks as gang violence or animal incidents. Hell, they'd probably call a wendigo a 'bear with mange' if it made their paperwork easier.
The CITD operated as one of the government's most secretive agencies, investigating what they considered “unusual threats” to national security. On paper, they dealt with domestic terrorism, organized crime networks, and fringe criminal activities. What made them different from other agencies was their particular focus on cases that seemed to defy conventional explanation.
But for all their advanced technology and classified clearances, most CITD agents remained willfully blind to the supernatural truth. They'd encounter a werewolf attack and file it as “unidentified animal aggression.” They'd document vampire feedings as “ritualistic blood cult activity.” Their reports were masterpieces of creative reinterpretation, transforming the impossible into something their bureaucratic minds could process and file away.
“Since when does CITD handle monsters?” I asked, reaching for the bottle Lex had left within easy reach. “Did they run out of alien abductions to investigate?”
Lex's grin widened, showing perfect teeth that seemed too sharp in the bar's dim light. “Since this particular agent showed up and started poking at things he shouldn't.” He watched me pour another generous measure of whiskey. “Blonde, pretty boy type. Maybe your kind of trouble.”
I scowled, knocking back the drink. The burn helped chase away memories I'd rather forget.
“I don't do trouble.”
“Sure, love,” Lex laughed, the sound rich and knowing. “Keep telling yourself that. But you might want to check this one out. Word is, he's not your typical fed. Something different about him. And I don't just mean his ass in those suit pants, though according to my sources, that's pretty exceptional too.”
I studied Lex's face, looking for the catch. There was always a catch with him. We might be friends, but he was still a businessman at heart. “What aren't you telling me?”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Can't a friend just look out for another friend's interests? Maybe try to help him find a nice boyfriend who won't die horribly?”
“Feck off,” I growled, but there was no real heat in it.
Lex was one of the few people who knew about Eli, about London. About why I worked alone these days.
“All I'm saying is, maybe check it out. If nothing else, we need to know why CITD is suddenly interested in our world. Could be connected to your demon-marked friend here.” He gestured to the severed hand, his expression growing serious again. “And Sean? Be careful. I'm not just saying that because your bar tab would bankrupt a small country.”
I stood, adjusting my torn jacket. “I'm always careful.”
“No, you're always ready to die. It's not the same thing.”
“Tomato, tomahto,” I shrugged, pocketing a few silver bullets from the counter.
Outside The Haven, I pulled out my encrypted phone, another one of Skye's endless “gifts” that came with lectures about proper security protocols. “Got a vamp situation at Purgatory. You around?”
“Bold of you to assume I'm ever not around.” Skye's voice came through clear and sharp, their typing audible in thebackground. The nonbinary tech genius had been my eyes and ears for years, though they'd never let me live down the time I'd fried one of their custom surveillance rigs. “Give me three minutes to tap into the club's security feeds. And try not to kill anything until I'm watching.”
I started moving, boots hitting the pavement in a steady rhythm as I made my way toward Purgatory. The club was exactly what you'd expect from Manhattan's elite nightlife scene, all gleaming glass and steel on the outside, corruption and death on the inside. Its neon-red sign painted the streets in hellish light, the bass from within vibrating through the concrete. Perfect hunting ground for the bloodsuckers.
“Got eyes on our target,” Skye reported, their voice all business now. “She's working the VIP section. Some Wall Street type who clearly skips leg day. Based on her pattern... I'd say you've got maybe ten minutes before she leads him somewhere private. And not the fun kind of private.”
