Page 4 of Marked

Two

I’m absentmindedly washing my hands in the women’s restroom, watching the pink-tinged water swirl down the silver drain. My gut feels hollow. This is the second person in a week that died before I could mark them. Cerberus won’t be pleased by my failure.

Just like the stories say, Cerberus guards the gates of the underworld. Souls that pass over are not allowed to leave, and living beings aren’t permitted to enter. When I was fourteen, I had a near death experience that led me to meet the guardian. I remember standing on the banks of Styx, the river of souls that flows between the land of the living and that of the dead. Even now, I can vividly see the transparent bodies floating in the murky water, their wails echoing in the darkness around me.

“You are not dead yet, girl.”

I turn at the voice and stumble back at the sight of the massive three-headed dog that stands before me. A terrified scream catches in my throat when he suddenly shifts and splits into three identical men. They’re wearing black suits that match their hair; the only contrasting color on them is the crimson of their eyes.

“We can send you back to the land of the living with a condition, or you can step into the river. Which choice do you prefer?”

It was such an obvious answer, I didn’t think twice before answering. “I-I want to go back!”

Knowing now what I didn’t then, I’m not sure I made the right decision. Marking souls as unredeemable is far from an easy thing. The actual task of marking is easy, but the emotional and mental toll isn’t. Every time I brand someone, and they committed any sort of horrible sin, I see it as clearly as if I had committed it myself. Each soul I mark, good or bad, colors my own a little darker, makes me that much more cynical.

“Dalton!”

I startle when someone shouts my name. “Give me a second!” I snap back and splash some water on my face before turning off the faucet. I dry my hands and face before examining my appearance in the mirror. Grimacing, I try to fix the smudged eyeliner, but the blood-stained shirt is a lost cause. I won’t be surprised if the techs have to take it.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I notice all the lights in the club are on. The place is mostly empty save for a few employees and dancers being questioned by various police officers of the preternatural branch. Spotting the new yellow caution tape warding off the dance area, I head toward my favorite lieutenant as he writes something on his notepad.

“They have anything yet?” I ask, sneaking up behind him.

Scott jumps, the notepad in his hand almost falling. He catches it and whirls towards me with a sneer twisting up his full lip. “Godsdammit, Dalton!” He curses. “How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me?!”

I resist the urge to grin. “Sorry.” But I’m not in the slightest bit and he knows that. I enjoy getting him worked up. We’re natural enemies, but I couldn’t imagine working for anyone else. “So, what do we have here?”

His brown eyes narrow suspiciously as they slide down my body and then back up, stopping to stare at my shirt. “You don’t know?”

“Would I be asking you if I did?” I counter, crossing my arms over my chest.

Flipping his notepad open, his gaze hardens. “Tell me, Detective Dalton, what were you doing here tonight?”

My spine straightens at his accusing tone. “What are you implying, Scott?”

“Don’t avoid my question, dog,” he sneers.

“I prefer hound, kitten.”

His dark skin flushes darker, the color spilling down his neck and disappearing under the collar of his dress shirt. I never thought cats and dogs were destined to fight until I met my boss, the werecat. Technically, he’s a weretiger-I swear there’s a wereeverything, but it’s hard to call him that when all I see is a puffed-up kitten that had his tail stepped on.

Scott Carter tried to hide his identity when the preternatural creatures came out to the public twenty-six years ago. Monster Movement is the genius name the higher-ups called the equality law, ensuring the creatures that go bump in the night have the same rights and protection as humans. Many of the preternatural thought it was a ruse, a trap for the humans to finish off the so-called monsters once and for all. But, fortunately for us monsters, the law is real.

I was an infant when the law went into effect, so I don’t know how the world was without monsters. But I doubt it was any better than what it is currently. A lot of humans hate us, and a lot of us still view humans as inferior.

Scott was forty when the bill passed, and he rants about before all the time. He once told me that before monsters came out of hiding, all he had to worry about was people hating him for being a cop. Now, they hated him for being a cop and a “monster”. He used to be the most highly decorated officer in Las Vegas before the movement, but he got reassigned as the lieutenant for the Las Vegas Preternatural Crime Unit, also known as the LVPCU.

With the preternatural creatures out in the open, a lot of police forces created a subdivision of officers and detectives to handle related crime. It’s been so successful that more and more cities are following suit. Let’s be real, humans don’t want to deal with monster messes. After all, it usually takes a monster to catch one.

So, when the higher-ups found out Scott was a wereanimal, they couldn’t discriminate and fire him; so they relocated him instead. After all, who better to lead the new branch than a highly praised officer who they thought was human?

“This looks like something a dog would do,” Scott hisses.

I roll my eyes. “Why would I attack her and then stay around to coat myself in her blood?” I gesture at my shirt. “Seems like a stupid thing to do if I wanted to get away with it.”

“I’d be more than happy to arrest you if you’re feeling guilty, Dalton.”

“How much catnip have you had tonight? You still doing rehab for that?” I tilt my head at him innocently. I swear I can practically see his blood pressure skyrocket, but before he can shout, my best friend interrupts.

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