Embraced by Darkness(28)

She dug in her bag as she approached the door, but if she was looking for house keys it didn’t matter, because the door opened. A solidly built man in his mid-thirties stood there. Even from where I sat, it was easy to see he was far from happy.
She didn’t say a word, just pressed a hand to his chest and thrust him back before stepping through the door and slamming it closed.
I grabbed my badge from the secure compartment under the seat, then climbed out of the car and ran for the house. They were shouting at each other, their words shrill, their voices filled with anger. I leapt over the side gate, heard the skitter of nails on concrete, and swung around to see a big black Lab running at me.
A threatening rumble rolled up my throat. The Lab stopped, his expression one of confusion as he sniffed the air. Then his head and tail dropped, and he hunkered down. Recognition of a superior. 
I gave him a pat as I passed, following the voices to the back of the house. Two windows had the shades drawn, but the third didn’t. I stopped and peered in.
They were in the kitchen. She was putting on the kettle, and he was yelling and gesticulating wildly behind her. He had some sort of accent, and was talking so damn loud and fast I could only understand half of what he was saying. Not that I needed to when the underlying message was clear.
Hubby knew where she’d been and what she’d been doing—even if not who.
My gaze went back to the woman. The creeping sense of evil no longer seemed to hover over her, but it was here, somewhere. Its darkness stained the night—a floating, nebulous feeling of death and destruction that sent chills skating across my body.
If this thing was a soul, then it was a hungry one.
And Mary Jamieson was about to become its next victim.
Chapter 7
I rubbed my arms, and wished I could pinpoint the precise location of the dark soul. It seemed near and yet not, outside rather than inside. Which was why I stood here rather than getting that woman out of the house and away. I might be risking her life by remaining still, but I didn’t dare do otherwise until the dark soul was near and visible. This might be our only chance to understand what the hell was going on.
The kettle whistled, the sound almost lost in the husband’s continuing tirade. Mary reached for two cups, then tipped coffee into both.
That’s when I saw it.
Black smoke, seeping into the room through the partially opened window on the opposite side of the room. It was featureless, this soul, bearing no resemblance to a human in any way, shape, or form. Perhaps it had never been human, even in life, though the anger and need to destroy that seemed to be emanating from it were both very human emotions.
It flicked along the baseboards, keeping itself low and long, barely visible against the dark carpet. When it neared the still-gesturing husband, it began to curl upward and around his legs, elongating and stretching, spreading itself ever finer, until it was nothing more than a smoky cloak covering his back. Then it seemed to melt into clothes and skin, and disappear.
Becoming a part of him.
The change, when it came, was quite sudden. The gesturing and shouting ceased, and an unnatural calm filled the void.
The woman didn’t even seem to notice the silence, let alone the sudden leap of menace in the air. She just blithely continued to make her coffee.
Time to get in there.
I took several paces backward, then blew out a breath and ran for the window, diving headfirst through the glass. It shattered, shards scattering everywhere as I hit the carpet and rolled to my feet. Mary turned, her mouth dropping into an O of shock, the teaspoon clenched in her right fist like a weapon.
The husband didn’t react. Didn’t look. Didn’t seem to even realize I was there.
Or didn’t care.
It was a chilling thought.
“Directorate of Other Races,” I said, raising my badge to show her. “Mrs. Jamieson, we’ve reason to believe you’re in danger.”
She raised an eyebrow, amusement touching her lips as her gaze skimmed my admittedly somewhat bedraggled and bloody state. “And do Directorate personnel often bust through people’s windows wearing torn dresses and party shoes?”
“Only when we need to, ma’am,” I said, my gaze on her still-unmoving husband. “If you’d just drop the spoon and move around the bench toward me, we’ll get you out of here.”
She laughed. “So who am I supposed to be in danger from?”
I hesitated. “Your husband is not—”
She laughed again, the sound this time harsh and cold. “Frank? He’s a spineless little turd who’s all talk and no action. In the bedroom, and out of it. Hence the little diversions he’s currently raving about.”And she was such a loving, understanding wife.
Christ, why did people like this even get married, let alone remain that way? Surely divorce was better than this sort of misery.
“Ma’am, you’ll just have to trust me on this one. Please walk around the bench and come here.”
She sniffed, but put down the spoon and began to approach me. The minute she did, the husband moved. Or rather, launched. Headfirst across the bench, straight at his wife.
She screamed and backed against the fridge, hands raised to protect her face. I swore and dropped a shield, reaching for her husband mentally.
And hit a wall.
Not a psychic wall, or even an electronic shield, but a wall that felt shadowy and thick with evil. The dark soul wasn’t about to let anyone else take over his revenge.
The husband grabbed his wife and forced her to the ground. I couldn’t see them thanks to the bench, but I could hear the smack of flesh against flesh and the resultant squeals of pain. I shoved my badge on top of the bench, then ran around it, grabbing the husband by the scruff of the neck and tossing him backward. He hit the kitchen cabinets with a grunt, but almost immediately came back at us, his eyes glazed and bloodshot, his fists swinging.
I ducked both blows, then grabbed him two-handed, lifting him up and tossing him back across the room. Then I grabbed the woman’s arm and hauled her to her feet.
“Now do you believe me?”
She nodded, her split lip bleeding and one eye already beginning to close. Fear flicked through her remaining eye, and the smell of it overran the scent of lilies and sex wafting off her.
“Good,” I said. “Now listen.”
The husband had landed amidst the broken glass, and had sliced his hands in his efforts to scramble to his feet. Blood dripped onto the tiles, the thick red color becoming a match for his eyes. A result of the possession, or the first indication of a body getting ready to die? I shoved my car keys into Mary’s hand.
“There’s a black Ford with Directorate plates three doors down. Get in there, lock the doors, and don’t come out until I tell you to. If you see your husband coming out of this house alone, start the car and get the hell out of here. Don’t go anywhere he knows, just drive until we contact you.” I looked at her. “Understood?”
She nodded, lips trembling. “But Frank?”
“Is not himself. He’s possessed.”
“Possessed?”
“Long story, lady, and we ain’t got the time.” Her husband was running at us again. “When I give the word, run.”
The husband leapt the bench. Whatever—or whoever—the evil soul had been, one thing was clear. He was no fighter. I sidestepped, grabbed his body, and flung him at the wall. 
“Run!” I said to the woman. “Now!”
She did, her heels clattering on the tiles before the sound disappeared into the thick padding of the carpet. The husband made a mewling sound and crawled off the bench on which he’d landed. He didn’t even look at me, just started running after his wife. I leapt at him, grabbing his legs and bringing him down onto the cold hard tiles with a smack hard enough to send blood flying. His and mine.
I wrenched my hand from underneath him, sending a thick shard of bloody glass skittering across the tiles, and tried to grab his arm.
You wouldn’t have thought it would be so damn hard to grab the arm of a human, but the man was suddenly an octopus—arms and legs everywhere, slippery as a snake. I finally caught his right hand, grabbing it firmly and yanking it behind his back. It didn’t seem to make one bit of difference. He was fighting and twisting and mewling, the noise inhuman—a match for his suddenly inhuman strength. I wasn’t exactly a lightweight, but I wasn’t The Hulk, either. And keeping this man pinned was becoming harder and harder.
He bucked like a bronco. I gripped him tighter, holding on for dear life as I twisted his arm higher up his back. It had to be hurting, but he didn’t seem to care.
He bucked again, and somehow twisted in midair, so that I was on the bottom, hitting the tiles back-first. Air exploded from my lungs, leaving me gasping.
He began hitting me, the blows raining down on face and arms and breasts. The wolf within rose snarling to the surface. I caught a blow, my hand wrapping around his and squeezing. Bones splintered, broke, and pain flicked through his ever-reddening eyes.
A reminder that a human rested behind whatever controlled his body. I backed off, merely gripping rather than crushing, then bucked, flipping him off me.
I scrambled to my feet as he slid across the tiles, then ran over and hit him, hard. The blow landed on his chin and he was out before he really knew what had happened.
Even so, I didn’t relax.
The blow might have taken out the body, but the soul that rested within would be unaffected. And who knew how it was going to react?