Page 63 of Darkness

Morrisey had read a few of those accounts in less than reputable magazines. “How can they go and return if you can’t go back?”

“It’s a rare gift to cross realms at will.”

“Would you if you could?”

Farren didn’t respond immediately, instead focusing on driving as the light finally turned green. “There’s nothing waiting for me. My home, family, job. All gone.”

Fuck. Poor guy must be as alone as Morrisey. Somehow, he couldn’t see Farren as remotely the same as the attacker who’d killed Bob and tried to kill Morrisey. “You’ve made friends here, right?”

Farren inclined his head to the right just enough to reveal a bittersweet smile. “Few humans know what I truly am or what I can do. I report to Leary. Sykes and Waverly report to me. I keep my relationships casual, as I can’t share the truth with just anyone. My last boyfriend ended things because he felt I was hiding something. I never introduced him to family and never took him to my place.” Farren huffed out a harsh breath. “I couldn’t lie and keep things from someone I truly care about. It's wiser not to care. Also, I live in the compound. It’s not like I could bring anyone home. Not without a security clearance. How about you?”

“Me?” Well, the conversation turned intimate despite Morrisey’s attempts to keep things casual. No one had asked about his personal life in so long he had to think before answering. The shock of someone caring enough to ask might be what loosened his tongue on personal details. “The one I thought I’d grow old with left for someone else. Couldn’t put up with me anymore.” It wasn't as if Morrisey had even attempted to compromise. “Like you, I kept my job to myself.”

“Where are they now, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Now time to out himself, as though a thorough background check hadn’t revealed Morrisey’s past relationship. “He. Craig worked in a law office. Came home as neat as when he left. I normally looked like something the cat refused to drag in on principle, even if I got home before he went to bed.” Morrisey frowned, recalling petty arguments about towels on the floor or food left out of the refrigerator. About missed dinner dates and all the times Craig visited friends and family alone. Things that didn’t seem important then, but for which Morrisey would like a do-over now. “He left, moved in with a new boyfriend, and died a few months later. Murdered. We never found the boyfriend.” Fuck. Did someone torture and terrify Craig long before he died? If only Morrisey had summoned the courage to touch him, see if any impressions lingered.

No. Craig had been dead for too long when the cops summoned Morrisey for being listed as Craig’s emergency contact.

“I’m sorry.” Farren’s words were barely above a whisper.

Old pain threatened to resurface. Morrisey squashed it down. He’d grown skilled at denying emotions. “Don’t be. I’m sorry enough for you, me, and a few other folks.” Besides, Farren endured the same heartache. A shiver crept up Morrisey’s spine. “Because you’re the one I’m looking for.” Just a dream. A silly, meaningless dream.

“Still, it’s hard losing someone close to you.”

All Morrisey could think of to say was, “Yeah.”

“How sad to both have the same thing in common.”

Yes, though hardly their only commonality. Both loners, both dedicated to their jobs—perhaps too much so. Both alone.

“Will you tell me about the missing boyfriend?” Farren asked. “They never found him?”

“No. Everyone said he was a straight-up kind of guy. Owned his own interior design company. One day he just… changed.” Morrisey snapped his fingers. “He beat Craig to death with a high dollar lamp.” Oh, the blood. Morrisey took the call from dispatch, finding out his destination too late.

“I know this might be painful to talk about, but you saw him? Your former lover, I mean.”

“I identified his body.” Morrisey exhaled heavily. He wouldn’t recall the sight of poor Craig, part of his face so badly damaged Morrisey barely recognized him. Morrisey’s heart squeezed. He wasn't the best partner, but he'd loved Craig in his own way.

“Morrisey? Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Hairs on Morrisey's nape rose. Could Craig have been a traveler kill? Fuck. The pieces clicked into place. “Son of a bitch.” Though Morrisey never encountered the face-upon-face thing with the jerk boyfriend. Then again, the alley encounter appeared to have awakened latent abilities.

Farren spoke matter-of-factly. “I think there’s a possibility a traveler might’ve killed Craig.”

“A demon?” The term seemed to fit better than “traveler” in this case. Poor Craig. What had he gone through before the end?

Farren flinched. “Your kind insists on calling us demons, but really, I was just an average guy like you, except for having wings and sleeping upside down. I’m not here to hurt anyone, and I’m not here by choice.”

Wings? Like the angel Morrisey thought of him as when they’d met? The sleeping upside-down thing didn’t sound too comfortable. What was the man, part bat? “Sorry. My temper sometimes gets the better for me.” Farren tapped out a staccato beat against the steering wheel. “S’okay. That’s what most people call us. I’m just being a little sensitive because I’m nothing like the killers I catch and banish.”

“What’s the biggest difference between most travelers and those ossie thingies?”

“Occisors. They lack what you call a soul. A conscience. And are driven by desire and hunger. Some are born without the sense of right and wrong; others are criminals who’ve reverted to a lower life form. Either way, some travelers have learned to control them.”

Now to handle the next question delicately, without giving too much away. "What do you know about succubuses?"

“Succuba is the Latin term.” Farren resorted to instructor mode, voice going professional. “I guess you’ve noticed all Domus classifications are based on Latin, a pattern I suppose started eons ago. Succuba, or what humans call succubi and incubi, feed on certain warm emotions within this realm, such as love and lust. The deeper the passion, the more satisfying the meal. Lust is a potent emotion. Back in Domus, they were pleasure workers and entertainers. Why? Anything you’d like to tell me?”

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