Page 2 of Alice Worth and the Elite Death Machine

“What does that mean?” Malcolm demanded. “We’re not dealing with a shifter, but somethingelsewith razor-sharp teethand claws? If that’s the case, I’m feeling less good about this by the minute. I don’t like things with claws thataren’tshifters.”

“Neither do I, but that’s what we’re here to find. Plus, anything capable of doing this to a demon soldier is extremely bad news. I don’t want it running around in our city.”

“I figured you’d say that. After all, our unofficial motto is ‘No sense letting it be someone else’s problem.’” He floated above the body to peer at it from overhead. “Anything else?”

Unsurprisingly, the demon had no identification or clues as to where he’d come from or how he’d ended up here, other than his branded runes. I took photos of symbols I thought might identify the demon lord he served, in case that information became useful later. Not that I wanted to tangle with another demon lord per se, but a gal had to keep her skills up and I had a pretty good record against them.

The demon carried a half dozen small weapons hidden in his leathers, all designed for close fighting. He hadn’t used any of them—or had a chance to use any of them. I found his primary weapons, two very nasty serrated blades, under his body. Whoever had killed him had tossed them into the tub and then chucked the body on top. Both long, curved blades bore etched spellwork that would make a victim’s death particularly long and painful. I scowled. Killing was one thing. The sadism of those spells was on a whole other level.

Most surprising and frustrating of all, neither weapon showed any traces of blood or magic, shifter or otherwise. Nothing for me or anyone else to track or even offer a clue as to who’d killed this demon.

“Did whoever killed this guy actually shred a mid-level demon without getting so much as a scratch?” Malcolm wondered when we finished looking over the body and the weapons. “If so, either that means demon soldiers aren’t as well-trained as their rep suggests, or we’re dealing with some kind of elite death machine.”

“Elite death machine, huh?” I chuckled despite the grim situation. “There is the possibility our killerwaswounded but had some method of removing their blood and trace. I can do that with the right spells.”

“Let’s hope that’s what happened here. I wonder if the EDM and John Adams are the same person, or if we’ve got another mystery on our hands.”

“EDM? As in electronic?—”

“No, Elite Death Machine. E-D-M. I’m making that a thing.” He turned in a circle to survey the room. “No toiletries—not even the hotel ones. And no used towels or washcloths. Did John take them all with him?”

“Possibly, to prevent tracking or leaving any DNA behind.” I rose, holding one of the soldier’s blades. “You know, I should take this.”

“You could use it for tracking, I guess, or even as a weapon if you had to.” He flitted again. “But someone could use it to trackyou. Ha. That’s the literal definition of a double-edged sword.”

“That’s what this is for.” I pulled a large leather pouch from my messenger bag and slid the blade inside. Because I sometimes used this pouch for sharp objects, it was lined with fine chainmail similar to the demon’s leathers. Otherwise the blade would have probably sliced right through the bag.

I cinched the bag with its drawstring and tied it closed. “Contineo,” I said. The containment and masking spells etched into the leather flared with a puff of air magic. “Now nobody can track it. I don’t think we can learn anything more from this room.”

We returned to the bedroom. I shut the bathroom door, took my mask off, and sighed in relief. When we’d first walked in, the smell of decomp had overpowered everything else. Afterspending ten or fifteen minutes shut in the bathroom, however, the rest of the suite smelled pretty great. I supposed I could thank the EDM for closing the bathroom door after he’d killed the demon. I would definitely have to change clothes when I got back to the car, though. Phew. I pulled off my gore-covered gloves and incinerated them and my mask with my air magic, and then washed the ash down the kitchen sink.

Our search of the demon’s corpse hadn’t told us much, but I had high hopes for more clues in the bedroom. Most people, humanorsupe, tended to let their guard down in the room where they slept. And even more importantly, magic and mental shields often fluctuated during sleep or sex. That made the bedroom the most likely room to find leads—at least, magic-related ones.

I stood in the middle of the room, closed my eyes, and lowered my shields slowly. Technically I didn’t need to close my eyes, but doing so helped me focus on what I could see and feel with my other senses.

Wisps of fading magic tingled on my skin. Most felt old, like traces left by previous guests. Unlike cheaper hotels, nice places like the Phoenix employed cleaning mages and even nulls who routinely removed lingering magic trace after the regular housekeepers did their normal cleaning routines. Fortunately for people like me, it took a lot of time and effort to get rid ofalltrace even if the mages in question were exceptionally thorough. Judging by the amount of trace I sensed, whoever cleaned this suite the last few times hadn’t been all that careful.

My fingers moved like I was playing the piano as I sifted through the trace. Gray magic meant a vampire. No, make thattwovampires—an older vamp and a much-younger one. Blue, green, and white magic indicated the presence of least three mages, with water, earth, and air magic respectively. A thin thread of very dark gray/green magic made me wrinkle mynose. A ghoul. I mentally catalogued all the magic in case I encountered those traces again.

When I ran my hands lightly over the rumpled bedding, I found the strongest and most recent trace: bright golden shifter magic. That fit with the condition of the dead guy in the next room, but I still didn’t understand how even a shifter could shred a highly trained demon soldier wearing silver chainmail.

Something about the trace seemed different from shifter magic I’d encountered before. It felt…lighter than I was used to, almost airy or effervescent, like a cross between shifter magic and air magic, though it wasn’t. Weird.

I opened my eyes. “Check out this magic.”

Malcolm floated over from the closet area. “Why? What you got?”

“Not sure.”

He mimicked my movements, running his ghostly hands through the bedding and golden trace. Not for the first time, I envied how he could do that, while I—by virtue of being alive—could only pass my hands over or under physical things. I definitely preferred to be alive, though. The trade-off wouldn’t be worth it.

“That is some really strange shifter magic,” he said, withdrawing his hands from the bedding. “It feels…clean?” He frowned. “Pure? Like the difference between fancy bottled water and water from a muddy river. And super powerful too. Kinda electric.”

“I’m going to tell Sean you called his shifter magic muddy water.” I scowled. “What the heck is this trace?”

“Can you put some in a crystal and track it?” Malcolm asked.

“Put it in a crystal, probably. Track it? Eh, maybe.”

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