Embraced by Darkness(12)

The stink grew richer, stronger, the farther we moved into the house. It wasn’t just death, but age, mold, and urine. This house smelled like it had been abandoned for some time—and if the cloying scent of piss was anything to go by, it had been claimed as a squat for the homeless for almost as long.
So what would a woman who wore costly, sparkly shoes be doing here?
The eyewitness report hadn’t mentioned anyone being forced into the house. Just a shadow breaking into it.
We stopped near the limb. I stared down at it, seeing the obvious tearing at the end of her leg, in the muscles and flesh. Someone had ripped this leg from her body. Not cut it, not bitten it, but literally pulled it free.
That took incredible strength. Which meant we were definitely dealing with something preternatural.
Cole glanced back to the mobile unit. “Zoom and record all floor elements at current location.”
“Scanning.” We waited, and after several seconds, the unit beeped. “Area scanned and recorded.”
We moved on carefully. Footsteps from behind indicated the two other shifters had entered the house, but Cole didn’t acknowledge them and neither did I.
The room beyond the hallway was a living room. Chunks of plaster were missing from the walls, and the grubby window to the right was smashed, allowing the light and the wind to swirl into the room. The smell of urine was stronger, almost masking the scent of death.
Almost.
There were more body parts here. An arm thrown casually on top of the fireplace. A shoeless foot leaning at an angle in a corner. And blood. Lots of blood, splattered in haphazard patterns across the walls and across the ceiling.
Shallow breathing wasn’t helping any. The aroma seemed to be seeping into my skin, making my stomach curl.
“Don’t move while I place another scanner,” Cole said, his voice matter-of-fact.
“How do you manage it?” I asked, my gaze on the kitchen entrance and the shadows and death and thick evil that waited there.
It almost felt as if whatever had caused this destruction was waiting for our reaction. Reveling in it.
I shivered and rubbed my arms. My imagination really needed to be shoved into a box and left there, otherwise I was going to have a whole lot of trouble getting through days like this.
Cole pressed the black globe against the ceiling, then said, “Manage what?”
“The sort of detachment you have. How do you get through day after day of confronting this sort of destruction?”
He shrugged as the scanner whirred to life. “I imagine I cope much the same way you do. You do what you have to, and deal with the consequences later.”
No matter how casual he seemed, it had to be a whole lot harder for him. He saw the destruction of good people day after day after day, but he had no hand in the final resolution. Didn’t have the satisfaction of seeing yet another murdering psycho removed from society.
I did.
And it was at times like this—when I was confronting such useless devastation—I was fiercely glad that fate had made me a guardian. I mightn’t have wanted the job—and I might still be reluctant to kill on order—but if I could help take out the monsters who wreaked this sort of havoc, then hey, I could live with a bit of blood on my hands.The scanner beeped, confirming that the initial scan of the room had been completed. I moved forward, my gaze on the kitchen. The smell of death and the sense of evil seemed to be concentrated there, and a large part of me didn’t want to go anywhere near it. But that wasn’t an option. If there was a soul to be found, then that was where I’d find her. With the major parts of her body, not her bits.
My steps slowed as I neared the breakfast counter. The blood was heavier here, huge swaths of color rather than mere splatter.
I licked my lips and forced my feet on through the open doorway between the counter and the wall.
Her torso lay in a corner, huddled between the cabinets and the fridge, as though she’d sought refuge from whatever had come after her.
Her head…
Bile rose in my throat, and it was all I could do not to throw up right there and then. Someone had driven a knife through her right eye, into her brain, back out through her skull, and into the plaster. Then they’d shaved her.
And I have no idea why that seemed such a defilement, but somehow, it did.
A hand touched my shoulder and I jumped.
“Jesus, are you all right?” Cole asked. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”
“I’m fine,” I said, voice somewhat restricted as I battled the urge to puke. “I just wasn’t expecting…that.” I waved a hand at the woman’s bald head.
“No,” Cole agreed, then added, “Worse, there doesn’t appear to be any hair here. Our killer must have taken it with him.”
I looked around and saw that he was right. “Oh, great. A freakazoid with a hair fetish. Just what we need.”
He smiled, but there was little amusement visible in his pale blue eyes. “All hunters like their trophies.”
I stared at him for a minute, not sure whether to be angry or just let it slide, when energy stirred past me.
I looked away. In the corner near the body, a wisp of thick air moved. It looked to be little more than smoke curling gently upward, barely visible against the darker shadows that clung to the body.
But it was not smoke, and a chill ran through me.
Her soul had come to talk.
“She’s here,” I whispered.
Cole looked at me, then at the body. “Where?”
The smoke grew stronger, found shape. Became more human in form. “Near her head.”
He frowned. “I can’t see anything.”
“Trust me, she’s there.” I rubbed my arms, but it did little to ward off the chill. It was almost as if seeing and communicating with these lingering souls brought me altogether too close to the fierce cold of the underworld.
And far too close to that lingering, gloating sense of evil. 
Wispy features formed. A mouth opened. He did it, she said.
There was an awful lot of anguish in that statement. And a pain that had nothing to do with her dismemberment.
Who? I asked the question telepathically, though I was still unsure as to whether a soul could actually understand or even hear me.
The figure stirred—an insubstantial form with only vague features. Liam.
So they could hear me, even if some didn’t answer directly. Who is Liam?
The smoky form became agitated, and the chill got fiercer, until it felt like fingers of ice were creeping into my flesh.
She swirled faster, her movements almost angry. With every turn, energy built in the air, until the small hairs along the nape of my neck were standing on end. Only then did the words come again. We were to be married. We were to live here.
With that statement, the energy fell away, and the soul disintegrated, fleeing to whatever region of afterlife it was bound.
And with it went the sense of evil, although that faded a lot more slowly. It was almost as if it wanted to linger but something else was drawing it away.
I shivered again, then met Cole’s curious gaze. “She said her fiancé did this.”
“Her fiancé?” He looked around. “Seems he wanted to get out of that marriage real bad.”
“Yeah.” I glanced at her remains, and wondered just what her fiancé was. Surely not human. It was doubtful, really, that he was even a were or a shifter. As strong as either race was, most didn’t have the sheer physical strength to rip someone apart so cleanly. Although there was one type of shifter who probably could.
“Would a bear-shifter be capable of doing this?”
Cole frowned. “Maybe, if they were in bear form. But from what I’ve seen, there don’t seem to be any claw marks on any of the limbs.”
“No.” I looked at her torso and swallowed heavily. “I think I’ll get out of your way and go question the neighbors.”
This time, the amusement on his lips did light his pale eyes. “And you said it wasn’t going to be my day.”
“If you’re not careful, I’ll come back especially to mess up your crime scene.”
“You probably will anyway.”
“Not if you promise to send me a direct report ASAP.”
“Done deal.”
“Thanks,” I said, and got the hell out of there.
Once in the open air—and free of the gloves and the booties—I stopped and sucked in several deep breaths. Death might still cling to my pores, but at least it no longer fouled my lungs.
I looked up and down the street, studying the house numbers. Once I’d spotted the one I wanted, I crossed the road. After shoving open the rickety gate, I bounded up the steps to the front door of the house. There was a small doorbell to the right of the handle, so I pressed it and waited. A dog yapped somewhere in the bowels of the house, then the lace curtains covering the window to the right twitched and a small, sharp face appeared.
“Shut that gate,” he said, voice shrill and wavering. “You want the dog getting out?”
I very much doubted the dog would come anywhere near me, but I dutifully turned around and wrestled the gate closed. Only when I’d done that did the old guy open the door. The yappy dog was at his heels, still yapping away. It might be little, but it sure as hell made a lot of noise.
“Yes?” the old guy said. “What do you want?”
“Mr. Hammond?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Riley Jenson, a guardian with the Directorate of Other Races. We’re investigating the crime you reported this morning.”