Uncanny Collateral

Chapter 12

The first thing I did was make a phone call to Zeke. The retired cherubim picked up on the fifth ring, answering with a groggy, “Hello.”

“Morning, Zeke. I need you to do something for me.”

“Alek? What time is it? It’s… oh, Christ, it’s nine in the morning. Call me back in three hours.”

“If you hang up,” I said pleasantly, “I’m going to drive down there and kick the shit out of you.”

That seemed to wake him up. His voice sobered instantly – cautious, with a dangerous inflection to it. Not a lot of people threaten angels, retired or not. “What’s going on, Alek?” he demanded.

I held the phone with my shoulder and ordered breakfast at a Chick-fil-A drive-through. “You still there?” I asked him.

“Yes, I’m still here. What do you want?”

“I want the address of every imp meth house in northeast Ohio.”

There was a long, pregnant pause. I could just imagine the confused look on Zeke’s face as he processed the request. “If I had that kind of information, it wouldn’t come cheap,” he finally said.

“I’m pretty sure you do have that kind of information,” I retorted, “and you’re going to give it to me for free, or you’re never going to get work from me or anyone at Valkyrie Collections ever again.”

“Whoa, whoa! What’s gotten into you, man? Why the hell would you say something like that?”

I let my exhaustion and irritation bleed into my voice. After being stonewalled by a teenage necromancer, I didn’t have patience for Zeke. “Because you sold me to that necromancer.”

Another pause. “I, uh, don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He told me it was you, twit. His draugr almost killed me twice, and they smashed up my truck. I’m driving around in a goddamn rented Prius and I’m pretty pissed off about it, so if you want to remain my go-to guy when Ada’s looking to spread around the bribe money, you’re going to get me those address.”

“I might be able to dig something up by next week.”

“You’ve got twenty minutes,” I said. “Ticktock.” I hung up and pulled into a parking spot, where I ate my breakfast slowly and downed four cups of fast-food coffee. I’d just finished picking the crumbs off my shirt when my phone buzzed. It was an email from Zeke, and it contained eight different addresses and a note at the bottom that said, This is Kappie’s territory. If he catches you snooping around, I had nothing to do with this. I made a quick mental map of the addresses, working clockwise around Cleveland, and typed the first address into my GPS.

Do you think this is a good idea? Maggie asked.

Not really. If it doesn’t draw him out, I’ll have wasted my entire day. If it does…

Then you’ll probably get killed by a shapeshifter.

That’s why I have you here, I said.

I’m not a fan of going after creatures we know nothing about. If it is a shapeshifter, it could be anything from a goblin wizard to an ancient trickster god. One of those is out of our league. I’ll let you guess which.

The first address was actually less than ten minutes from Valkyrie HQ, on a cul-de-sac in Euclid. At first glance, the place was abandoned – the windows boarded up, the roof in disrepair, the driveway cracked and full of weeds. But there were two cars parked in the cul-de-sac, and as I scoped the place out, I watched an emaciated imp walk past with a little mutt cattle dog on an extension cord as a makeshift leash. The dog stopped in the driveway and threw up bile before the imp dragged it around behind the house.

“Prick,” I said aloud. I got out of the car and strapped on my holster and flak vest, then put on a hat with the Valkyrie company logo on the front. I didn’t bother with a jacket, despite the chill spring weather. Because of my troll blood, my arms look like I work out a whole lot, and I wanted to show them off in short sleeves. The display of force was for a couple reasons: first, because low-level imps tend to be sniveling cowards who will cow before an immediate threat; and second, because if this hypothetical shapeshifting creature showed up to tumble, I wanted it to think my gun and vest were the only surprises I had ready for him.

How we looking? I asked Maggie.

Four imps inside. Another two out back.

I ignored the front door and walked around the side, following the imp with the dog, only to find him and a friend standing by the back door. They poured a can of beer into a bowl and laughed while the dog slurped it up hungrily.

“Beer is bad for dogs,” I said flatly.

Both imps leapt out of their skin. They turned on me and froze, sharing a single glance.

“I’m not a cop,” I added quickly.

The two imps looked so much alike that they might have been twins. One wore a red sweater – probably a thrift store find – and the other a T-shirt with the slogan of a failed presidential campaign from six years ago. Red Sweater nudged his friend and lifted his chin toward my gun. “If you’re not a cop, who are you?”

“Alek Fitz. I’m a reaper.”

“Reapers ain’t got shit on us, man,” T-shirt spat at me, his initial fear turning to posturing.

I walked over to the two and gently took the bowl of beer away from the dog, tossing it over the nearby fence.

“Hey!” T-shirt began.

I grabbed him by the chin and squeezed a little. “You – walk to the store and get two cans of good dog food. And a real leash.”

“I’m not–” he tried to say.

I squeezed until he let out a high-pitched squeal. “I’m not a cop. I don’t mind hurting you. Good dog food and a leash. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah!”

I let him go, and he sprinted off around the side of the house. I tilted my head, listening to make sure that he continued down the sidewalk instead of going in the front door. When I was satisfied he was gone, I said to his friend, “I’m looking for someone.”

Red Sweater shied away from me. “If you’re looking for an imp, you’ve got to take it up with Kappie. I just work here.”

“I don’t want to talk to Kappie. I want to talk to the peons. Some of your friends have been taking work on the side – stuff Kappie didn’t give them. I want you to tell me what you know.”

Red Sweater’s eyes grew large. “Shit, man, Kappie’s the big guy. We go against him, and we’re fucked.”

I don’t think he has any idea what you’re talking about, Maggie said.

“I’m looking for the person offering these side jobs,” I continued.

“We wouldn’t . . .”

I cut him off. “The employer is either scarier or paying better than Kappie. Maybe both. I don’t really give a shit. Do you know Kappie’s cookhouse out in Ashtabula?”

He gave a dumb nod.

“Do you know what happened?”

Red Sweater licked his lips. “Heard there was some kind of a gunfight. Everybody ended up dead.”

“That what Kappie told you?”

“Yeah…”

I put my hand on his shoulder. The little creep was barely more than skin and bone. I spoke in a low, gentle tone. “What really happened is that almost a dozen imps got torn to pieces. Pieces. They were working for the thing that did it to them, and I’m on its trail.” With one hand, I produced a card from my pocket and put it in his hand. “I want you to call around to all your friends and cousins. You tell ’em that something is killing imps. Your boss doesn’t care, but I do. If any of them tell you a story about a stranger offering work, you call me immediately.”

The imp stared at my card for a few moments, then looked up at me. I could see him summoning courage. “What’s in it for me?” he asked.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, I said to Maggie. It’s almost like not getting killed isn’t enough. “You find me this asshole, and I’ll give you five hundred bucks, plus another hundred for whoever your source is.” I leaned forward so that we were eye to eye. “After I get my hands on the guy. Got it?”

“Right. Got it. Yes, sir.”

I opened the back door, covering my mouth against the eye-watering stench of ammonia. Four imps sat on bare, stained carpet watching an old tube TV. Two of them got to their feet as I entered. “Sit down,” I said. “I don’t give a shit what you’re cooking in here.” I produced a handful of business cards and gave them each the same spiel and offer I’d given their red-sweatered friend, then went back outside as quickly as I could manage.

I hocked up a wad of phlegm, spat in the dirt, and rubbed my eyes. “How the hell do you guys breathe in there?”

“We wear masks when we’re cooking,” Red Sweater replied.

“And the rest of the time?”

He shrugged.

I looked down at the little cattle dog and chewed on the inside of my cheek. It stared up at me expectantly, clearly disappointed I had taken its breakfast. It inched forward and licked the tips of my fingers.

We don’t have time for this, Maggie warned.

I took the extension cord out of Red Sweater’s hand. “I’m confiscating your dog.”

“Hey!”

“Don’t keep pets in a meth house,” I called over my shoulder as I left.

I went out of my way to drop the dog at a nearby shelter whose owner owed me a favor, then headed to the next address on Zeke’s list. It was much the same as the first: occupied by a handful of imps who cooked meth for Kappie. The imps protested that no one would accept work without Kappie’s allowance, but they all ate up my promise of a five-hundred-dollar bounty for this mysterious employer.

The third house followed suit, and the fourth and the fifth. It was getting late in the afternoon when I reached the sixth house, in a town called Berea. I pulled into the driveway, and Maggie immediately chimed in. Don’t bother. The house is empty.

Completely?

Completely, she confirmed. Kappie must have cleaned it out months ago.

I sighed. This isn’t working, is it?

Before Maggie could answer, my phone rang. It was an unidentified number. “Alek Fitz,” I answered.

A nasally voice said, “Are you the reaper guy?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” I thought I recognized the voice of Red Sweater from the Euclid house. “Do you have anything for me?”

“Maybe,” he answered. “My cousin’s friend is helping open up a cook house over in Painesville. He says some spooky dude offered them a side job, but he wouldn’t say what it was.”

“That’s not super specific,” I said.

“Hey, man, that’s all I’ve got. Do I get the five hundred bucks or what?”

I checked Zeke’s list. No houses in Painesville. “Text me the address,” I told him. “If it’s a good lead, you’ll get your money when I drag this sucker down.”

The address arrived on my phone within thirty seconds, and I was on my way to Painesville. It was dark by the time I pulled up in front of a little cottage on a two-acre lot that still had a realtor’s sign out front. Someone had spray-painted Black Mold on the realtor’s sign. There were three cars in the driveway, the lawn was unkempt, and I could see light coming from around the edges of blacked-out windows.

It didn’t take a lot of effort to bully my way inside and corral seven imps onto the two beat-up couches in the living room. I stood in the middle of the room, looking at the seven as if I were about to give a presentation. Not a single one gave me trouble beyond asking who I was, but they all fixed me with the same hollow-eyed look I had seen on the guy back in Euclid. Something was most definitely wrong here, though. “Five hundred bucks,” I said firmly, hoping to get a rise. “First one of you who sells out your boss gets it in cash.”

“Kappie’s our boss,” one answered.

“Your other boss,” I clarified.

One of the imps, a younger one with a hairlip, looked around at his friends before opening his mouth. “I–” His closest companion punched him in the shoulder, and he fell silent.

“You what?” I asked, walking over to stand above him.

We came to the right place, Maggie told me.

You sure?

They’re all scared shitless. They’re practically exhaling fear.

“Come on,” I said. “Five hundred bucks to the first one to speak.” I did a circuit around the room, then returned to Hairlip and nudged his shoe with my boot. “Five hundred not good enough? You guys need some group courage? How about two hundred each?”

Still no rise. I straightened, scowling at the assembled imps. It’s like they think he’s going to show up any second, I said to Maggie.

About that, Alek – you have company.

You’re shitting me. Where?

Outside, coming quick.

I drew my Glock and backed into the corner of the living room, one eye on the front door and the other on the window. The imps stared at me in confusion. Where is he? I asked Maggie.

I’m trying to figure that out! I can’t pin the bastard down; he’s –

Maggie was cut off by a deafening rumble. It felt like a concrete truck driving by at full speed, and I tried to pinpoint the source with no more luck than Maggie when I heard a snap, felt a breeze on my neck, and something snagged the back of my flak vest all in the course of a split second. The word shit wasn’t out of my mouth when I felt myself yanked through the wall of the house, crunching through the drywall, framing, and siding. I was suddenly tumbling through the air. I instinctively curled into a ball a moment before I bounced off a tree and went skidding across the muddy yard to land in a heap about twenty yards from the house.

Alek!

I’m awake! I responded, pulling myself gingerly to my knees. My lower back – where I’d hit the tree – felt like I’d been hit by a wrecking ball. The rest of me ached so badly that my fingers tingled. I remembered the house, then remembered my gun, then remembered that something very angry was on its way to eat me. I used every ounce of concentration to get to my feet. Gun? I asked Maggie.

Eight feet to your left. Yes, there.

A scream pierced the night as I recovered my weapon. It was followed by another, and the screams soon erupted into a chorus. I swung toward the house, watching in horror through the hole in the wall as something tore through those imps as easily as I would a box of pet-store bunnies. Why isn’t he coming after me? Why is he… shit, he’s killing my witnesses! I broke into a sprint, ignoring the pain in my side. I checked the Glock, not bothering to close more than half the distance before I pulled up, braced myself, and squeezed off two quick shots.

The screaming went silent, and the shadows inside the house went still. I approached slowly, gun raised. I didn’t kill it, did I?

I don’t think so… Maggie sounded uncertain.

I reached the corner of the house and eyeballed the spot where the creature had snatched me and pulled me through. He must have gone in the same way, because the hole was quite a bit larger than I was. Inside, the living room light had been shattered, and the room was illuminated by a knocked-over lamp and light coming in from the kitchen. Is it gone?

Maggie didn’t answer.

Carefully, I climbed up into the living room. I cleared it, then the kitchen and back bedroom before returning to the living room and taking in the carnage. It was the same as in Ashtabula – corpses lay like discarded rag dolls, some of them separated from limbs and heads. Bellies were torn open; throats were cut. The killing had no pattern beyond whatever was quick and convenient. Blood spatter covered the walls and ceilings, and blood still spurted from one headless body.

A sickly cough brought my gun back up. I spun toward the front door, where I was surprised to find Hairlip lying halfway behind the television, one leg skiwampus with the bone sticking out, using both hands to hold in his intestines. I swallowed my bile and knelt next to him, pulling out my phone and hitting record on the camera. “That thing,” I said. “That’s what you were afraid of?”

Hairlip’s eyes were closed. He let out a whimper.

“Do you know who or what it is?” I said. “Does it have a name?”

Alek.

I know it’s shitty, but I need to know, I told Maggie.

It’s not that. Back up slowly. Do it now. Hairlip’s real body is on the other side of the room.

Hairlip’s eyes shot open. My first thought was that they were bright yellow, like a cat’s, and my second was to throw myself backward as Hairlip’s body shimmered and twisted, one enormous, mangy, taloned hand shooting toward me with the speed of a striking adder. The talons snagged in my flak vest, and the strength of the creature threw me sideways into the wall. Grendel’s claw flared to life on my left hand, and I brought my hand down hard in a karate chop, using the power of the tattoo to sever the shapeshifter’s hand at the wrist.

The shapeshifter recoiled, letting out a strange, warbling scream as it finished shifting from Hairlip into a something that looked like the fuckchild of a rabid werewolf and an excavator. Even with its shoulders hunched, its head dragged along the ceiling. It took one step back, let out a howl, and drew its long, black tongue across the bloody stump at the end of its arm.

Without a second thought, I emptied the rest of my Glock into it.

The shapeshifter fell back several more steps, grunting as the bullets traced crimson flowers across its chest. The impacts barely seemed to have any affect, and I braced myself for the thing to leap at me, jaws snapping. It seemed to shimmer again, growing smaller even as it leapt toward the window.

“God damn it,” I said as I ran toward the front door.

By the time I was outside, all I could see was the tail of something catlike disappearing into the underbrush far faster than I could ever hope to give chase. And I had no interest in chasing a shapeshifter in the dark through unfamiliar woods. I waited for several minutes on the front lawn until Maggie gave me the all clear. I stumbled back inside.

You’re bleeding.

I touched the side of my head. My fingers came away crimson. That thing hits like a truck, I told Maggie. Fast as hell too. I carefully crossed the room, looking for my phone, and found it between Hairlip’s real head and the severed foot of one of his companions. I wiped the imp blood from my phone onto my torn-up flak vest and replayed the video I was in the middle of taking when the shapeshifter revealed itself. I saw the yellow eyes and the swiping of the claw, and then the phone got thrown across the room when I went into the wall. It had landed at an angle, catching a good shot of the creature’s head as the sound of my Glock cracked sharply in the background.

I turned off the video. Sitting on my haunches, surrounded by bodies, I ran my hand over my face. My hand brushed across my tusks, and I let out a tired little laugh. I hadn’t even felt them emerge. I willed them back to normal, ignoring the pain in my gums to focus on the pain running down my side. Such a hit would have probably paralyzed a normal person – maybe even killed them outright. I’d feel lucky if X-rays didn’t show a couple of cracked ribs.

What do you want to bet that our shapeshifter has either already killed or is on his way to kill anyone else who’s worked for him? I asked Maggie. I got up and walked into the kitchen, looking across a bunch of meth-making equipment that didn’t look like it had been used yet. I glanced through the cupboards, then walked into the back bedroom and opened the top drawer of a dresser. Staring back at me in the drawer were at least a dozen soul mirrors. Well, that’s a start, I said, gathering them up. He didn’t have time to grab these before he took off. I paused, listening for some reply. Maggie?

Yeah, I’m here, she replied distractedly.

What’s wrong?

Nothing. I’m trying to read.

Well, you picked a damn strange time to do it.

Research, dummy.

I checked the rest of the drawers, then underneath the beds and in the closet. All in all, I left the house with almost thirty soul mirrors. I tossed them in the Prius’s trunk, got in the car, and started driving. I hadn’t been on the road long when my phone rang.

“Hey, Alek, it’s Nadine.”

“You still at work?”

“I am. Still digging through that file on Judith Pyke.”

To be honest, I’d completely forgotten about it. I perked up. “Anything useful?”

“Not sure. Just a random tidbit I found.”

“What’s that?”

“Judith herself might not even know, but the offices she rents downtown are all owned by Kappie Shuteye.”

“Huh. Anything else?”

“Not yet. I’ll let you know.”

I hung up and drove in silence, considering this new bit of information for several minutes, unsure of which direction I wanted to take this. Tying Kappie to Judith could mean Kappie was involved… or it could just mean that whoever was using Kappie’s muscle also had access to his more legitimate records, like rental tenants. I was almost back to the office when Maggie broke into my thoughts.

I’ve got it, she said.

Got what?

What we’re dealing with.

That’s good?

No. No, it’s not.

I cleared my throat. Trickster god?

Not quite. It’s a ghoul.

You mean one of those things you were telling me about the other day?

Yeah. Maggie sighed. You don’t want to be driving when I tell you about this.