Page 35 of Darkness

The Craig within Morrisey's thoughts faded away to nothingness. A brush of air against his cheek might’ve been the air vent—or ghostly fingers giving a final caress. Morrisey placed his hand against the skin there, holding on to an imaginary kiss.

The microwave pinged, the food now turned stomach-churning. Morrisey dumped it into the trash, his appetite gone.

He’d been offered a purpose. Leary and Austen claimed they knew all about Morrisey’s shortcomings and wanted him anyway. About time somebody did. Wasn’t like Morrisey had anything better to do except catch a few killers. But… first he met with Jessa, now the FBI extended a job offer. Coincidence?

He had never been a big believer in coincidence. Maybe he should finally watch Men in Black after all.

His new job, if he accepted the offer, might be more tragedy than comedy.

Chapter Thirteen

Another apartment in another less-than-stellar part of town, awash in flashing police lights and a sea of blue uniforms.

Farren exited his task-force-issued car and picked his way around a few gawkers.

“Demon!” Farren heard from behind, followed by snickers and the speaker coughing into his hand. After ten years serving with the task force, Farren should have gotten used to the insult by now, but with each recruit came someone else who thought themselves so clever, believing they alone thought up the slur. He’d have words with the offender’s trainer later about the confidentiality agreement and the fact the cops roamed the area who might hear the epithet and wonder at its meaning.

Maybe Farren should simply prove the man right. Nope. He’d agreed to certain rules upon joining the FBI, keeping other skills hidden as a matter of self-preservation. If Leary found out how much Farren’s powers had grown, it might cause open season on travelers. Most were completely innocent. However, even if only point one percent weren’t, they were still out there.

Devon stood off to the side, interviewing a witness, one of the few human team members who didn’t look down his nose at Farren. Certainly not at Arianna.

“Corpse fucker,” a team member muttered.

What? A human belittling their own kind? In Farren’s opinion, Devon was the best of the humans assigned to the team. No wonder Arianna had her eyes on him.

But corpse fucker? Farren turned, glowering at the asshole who dared to spout nonsense, then giving a smirk. “You should try it sometime. Or maybe that’s your problem. You fantasize about a walk on the wild side, but can’t find any takers.” Petty, yes, but sometimes, the temptation grew too much.

Corpse fucker. Asshole.

Both good and bad in every group. Farren had met his share of bad humans. Bad travelers, too. At least the travelers under Leary’s command behaved themselves.

He ignored the glares and climbed the stairs to the floor of the apartment building. Cops might not know his nature, but they couldn’t miss the wide berth others on Farren’s team gave him. Yellow crime scene tape and muttering voices guided him to the correct apartment.

Officers lingered outside the door, not allowed to enter until Farren made an assessment. But he couldn’t let them come in if he even suspected a traveler lurked who’d be more than happy to take over an unsuspecting human’s body.

Magestra couldn’t be co-opted.

Farren stretched his senses. No portals nearby, no steady thrum of energy from a disembodied traveler. No smell of blood. Atlanta PD found the body during a welfare check.

A box of booties and gloves sat on a chair by the door. Farren slipped a pair of booties over his shoes.

A trace of herbs lingered in the air, a scent the reeking alley had concealed during Morrisey's attack. This was a mere whiff, like lingering perfume. A traveler had definitely been here.

Farren followed the scent trail with painstaking slowness. A lifeless figure occupied the bed. The herbal scent nearly overpowered him here. Instincts he’d long depended on confirmed this was a definite traveler kill, but the killer hadn’t fed first from anger, fear, or sex. They’d simply killed by kicking out the original consciousness, which had nowhere else to go.

Then they deserted the body for a new one.

Which meant they were looking for a traveler who’d been in Terra long enough to become accustomed to eating like humans. Farren couldn’t identify the class of the traveler, which also meant many years, perhaps decades, spent on this plane of existence.

No marks on the body, which rested peacefully on the bed. Had the host even known they were dying, or had they left this plane long ago? Farren had only a couple of minutes before Atlanta PD forced him to leave the apartment.

He donned gloves and dug through the evidence. According to the driver’s license in her purse, she’d been Maria Stillwell, forty-two. The report showed she’d never been married, no children. They’d have to hunt for family in this case.

Farren meandered through the corridor to the bathroom, keeping his senses open for any evidence. Prescription bottles lined the medicine cabinet. Hydrocodone, oxycodone. Had Maria succumbed to an overdose? No. The entire room stank of possession.

The toilet seat was in the up position. Farren wandered into the living room. The faint hint of cheap men’s cologne and pot smoke hung the air. Huh.

Farren went back to the bedroom. A short dress hung over a chair; the kind Arianna might wear out clubbing. Had the traveler in Maria brought someone to her apartment and stolen his body?

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