Shadows of Old Ghosts Read online

  Shadows of Old Ghosts

  A novel by Stephanie Zayatz

  July 10th – Friday

  ***

  He had a head start, but that didn’t mean much with Aviira following him.

  She had come knocking on his apartment door to question him concerning a suspected rape in the area—he was, after all, the suspect. After listening to her explanation through a cracked door, he nodded, closed the door again to pull the chain, but then she heard him through the door as he bumped into his coffee table and made a haphazard dash for the fire escape off the balcony. Aviira rolled her eyes and put her shoulder into the door, snapping the chain and splintering the frame. She burst into the room just in time to see his head disappearing down the fire escape.

  “Hey!”

  By the time she was in the window, he was almost two floors below her. They were only four stories up, and it didn’t take her long to catch up to him. When he hit the pavement in the alley below, she vaulted over the last remaining staircase and achieved freefall only for a moment before she landed on his back.

  His face broke most of the fall, but the jolt still hurt, sending a shudder up through both of her knees that momentarily made her lose her balance and hit the pavement. Her target was still in flight mode, fortunately, and she was able to reach out and grab him by the ankle before he made it too far. His face was a bloodied mess, but he still managed to sit up and take a haphazard swing at her. She dodged it and followed up by breaking his nose with her fist.

  Aviira shook out the stinging pain in her hand while he fell back again, dazed and bloody. She situated herself on her knees over his body and reached into her back pocket for a zip tie.

  “Don’t like it so much when the women fight back, do you, asshole?”

  He spit on her, mostly blood.

  She was still only for a moment while she registered what had happened, but he still didn’t seem to expect it when she grabbed him by the throat with one hand and punched him hard in the eye with the other. He grabbed at her in a desperate attempt to force her away and she took hold of his wrist and wrenched his arm behind his back, pushing him onto his stomach. She took a moment to relish the sound he made as she twisted his arm back. She put her knee on his elbow to hold it in place while she wrestled his other arm into place and used the zip ties to restrain him.

  “Dale Everiss, by my authority with the Society for the Protection and Safety of Ancients, I am hereby placing you--”

  Her throat closed around her words as a jolt of surprise rang through her. It was the angle of his arms that had done it. Pulled behind his back, she could see the insides of his wrists, and even in the light she could not see the white veins that should have been there.

  Her heart did a terrible roll in her chest.

  “Oh, shit.” She pulled on his shoulder to talk down at him. “Are you an Ancient?”

  “Fuck you, bitch.”

  It wasn’t the answer she was looking for, but it wasn’t a complete miss either. She looked again to double check. Only veins blue as blue.

  Blue as a human’s.

  Aviira sat back on her haunches and wiped at the bloody spit on her cheek. A defeated sigh fought its way out of her mouth.

  Her target tried to lean back to look at her. “You gonna arrest me or not?”

  “Keep yapping and you’ll be going to the morgue instead,” she said. She reached for her phone to call the local police precinct.

  The ringing of the phone in her ear sounded a lot like the nails in her career’s coffin.

  ***

  “I made a mistake, Stu.”

  “I think you need to learn the real definition of mistake, Aviira,” he replied. “Dropping the guy off at the wrong precinct is a mistake. Even questioning the wrong suspect is a mistake. But what you did was deliberate.”

  She had never seen him this angry. Close, but not quite. Mattson was pacing back and forth behind his desk. He usually wore slacks and a tie to work, but tonight he was in jeans and a t-shirt, probably because it was close to midnight and he’d gone back to Headquarters after the Captain at the Denver police department had called him to tell him what had happened. He’d called Aviira in a blind rage and demanded she bring her ass to his office immediately and didn’t mince any words about bringing her badge, too. She was still dressed because she had been sitting on the edge of her couch all night waiting for the call she had known was coming.

  She started to say something, but Mattson spoke over her.

  “What, you gonna tell me that punching the guy in the face was a mistake too?”

  She raised her eyes to him and let a moment pass. When he finally stopped pacing for a second, she said, “Can I talk?”

  “By all means,” he said, waving a hand. “I’m dying to know what happened here.”

  The sarcasm stung, and it was how she knew she’d crossed a line.

  “I didn’t realize he wasn’t an Ancient until it was too late.”

  Mattson wagged a finger at her. “Oh no. You don’t get to use that excuse again. That was the excuse last time.”

  She held her hands out to the sides for a second. “Well, it’s the truth.”

  “You didn’t check this guy out first? Didn’t think maybe that was sort of important? If you’d looked him up and realized he was a human you know what your options are? Arrest him and bring him to DPD and then you bring the case to me so I can have charges filed. That’s it. ”

  She looked down at the carpet and tried not to fume.

  Mattson leaned his arms on his desk and looked across it at her. “Aviira. Almost eight years you’re one of my detectives. And you’re a very good detective. But. You have got to get your shit together here.”

  Aviira sat forward. “Stu, the fucker was picking up Ancient women and raping them and leaving them for dead.”

  “I’m not trying to say you didn’t have the right to arrest him,” he said. “But you don’t have the right to beat the shit out of human suspects! How many times do I have to tell you this? Now I’ve got DPD screaming at me that you’ve brought another suspect into their precinct with a busted face and I’m the one who looks bad for it. You have to stop kicking the shit out of your suspects, Aviira. Ancient or human for that matter. We have regulations for a reason. We take care of Ancients and the police take care of humans. Period. You know you’d be mad as hell if there was some cop down working the beat who was beating up Ancients and then handing them over to us.”

  “That shit happens all the time, Stu, and you know it.”

  “That still doesn’t give you carte blanche to do whatever you want. You have to comply with the regulations that you agreed to uphold when you became a detective. You’ve had a pretty stellar career up to this point, Aviira, and it’s a shame to see you throw it all away over something stupid like that.”

  She chewed the inside of her lip. “Are you firing me?”

  “Captain Beal wants me to.”

  “I know what Captain Beal wants,” she said with a scowl. “He wasn’t afraid to say so earlier, either.”

  Mattson frowned. “I’m half-inclined to agree with him.”

  Aviira’s eyes got wide. “Stu, please. Please don’t fire me.”

  “You have to start following the rules, for Christ’s sake.”

  “I will!”

  “You said that last time, Aviira. How many times am I supposed to tell you you’re on your last chance? I keep letting you get away with this shit and now I’m the guy who can’t keep his detectives in line.”

  She stared across the desk at him for a moment. “You want me to beg?”

  He sighed. “No, I don’t want you to beg. But I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to do with you.”


  A note of desperate worry slipped into her stomach for the first time. “Stu,” she said quietly. “Stu, I’ve been one of the best detectives this branch has ever fucking seen. Nobody’s brought Hunters down the way I have—”

  “Nobody’s been in my office for disciplinary reasons as much as you have, either.”

  “Nobody’s even been here as long as I have. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “You make me fucking crazy, Aviira. Yes, you’re one of the best detectives I have, but you keep doing shit like this and it puts me in a very difficult position. I have a detective who keeps pulling stuff like this and now my job is on the line, you understand me? Sooner or later somebody above me is gonna start asking questions.”

  She blew her breath out in an agitated sigh. And waited. When he didn’t say anything, she dared a hesitant, “So?”

  Mattson drummed his fingers on his desk. “So I’m transferring you out of special investigations.”

  “What?”

  “Hear me out, Aviira. And don’t you dare complain, because the other option is handing over your badge right now.”

  She sat back in her chair.

  “I’ve already talked to the Informant at the General Field office. He has a detective who’s in need of a partner too. We figure if there’s someone to keep an eye on you, keep you in line…”

  “Someone to babysit me is what you’re saying.”

  “Damn straight, Aviira.”

  She swallowed and looked away. She’d been hoping to call his bluff on that one.

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  “Jirel Turmaine.”

  “Oh fuck, Stu,” she scowled. “Really?”

  He scowled right back at her. “Don’t even go there. Jirel is a very accomplished detective and he’s worked with a partner before.”

  “He’s so good how come he needs a new partner? Old one got tired of his arrogant ass?”

  “I don’t know,” Mattson said. “Why don’t you ask him?”

  She gave him a flat look. “This is really my option? Get kicked out of Special Investigations to go over to the goddamn field office and work with someone who had his career handed to him because he’s got an in with the person who happens to run the Society?”

  Mattson’s eyebrows went up. “When you consider that the other option is handing me your badge and walking out that door, yeah. I’d say it’s a pretty good fucking option.”

  Aviira leaned back in her chair and sighed heavily. “Any chance of me coming back?” she said finally.

  He shrugged. “Maybe. You work with this other guy for a little while, get your shit together, prove to me that you can take direction and work with others, maybe. We can discuss it.”

  Her jaw tightened up and she fought the instinct to argue.

  “I don’t want to get rid of you, Aviira,” Mattson said, quieter. “I like you and I think you’ve got some great potential. But only if you quit screwing yourself over like this. You’re a lot better than this.”

  There was another long pause. Aviira desperately wanted Mattson to say that he was just joking, that he just wanted to hold her feet to the fire and get her to realize how serious it was. But he never did.

  “Fine,” she said softly. “Tell this guy over in the field office I’ll work with him.”

  July 12th – Sunday

  ***

  The TV above the bar was tuned to CNN for some reason. The anchor was discussing the bombing that had recently occurred at a busy park in Atlanta, the second anti-Ancient bombing to happen at the hands of a serial terrorist. The in-frame picture was old news footage of the first bombing in Central Park nearly twelve years earlier, as though there was still someone left in the country who had never seen the smoky, chaotic scene before. The bomber had been thought to have died in that, but after a dozen years of silence he had reemerged with an even bigger attack nearly three weeks earlier.

  Jirel turned his eyes away from the television and shut them. He set his elbows on the bar and clasped his hands together in front of his face, then pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumbs. It never took much for those memories to rise up behind his eyelids, no matter how many times he had tried to force them out. It was certainly no help that the media was playing the grainy footage again with full force now that the bomber had resurfaced with a new attack. It was like they had no concept of the trauma that those images might have caused as long as the ratings remained high.

  Then again, not many people had been as close as he had and walked away to tell about it, either.

  The smell of sulfur and burnt skin was just creeping back to him when Xander patted him hard on the back and knocked him out of it. He jumped.

  “Jesus.”

  “Woah,” Xander said as he sat at the stool next to him. “Tense much? You order yet?”

  “No.” The half-elf composed himself and quickly changed the subject, glanced at his watch to confirm what he already knew. “You’re late.”

  Xander whistled at the bartender—a friend—and waved at him to bring drinks over. “Yeah, well. Guess who.”

  “You’re a grown-up, you know. If you want to go out and have a drink then go out and have a drink.”

  Xander gave a dry smile that was definitely not amused. “Yeah, see, that? That’s how I know you’re not married. And you’re especially not married to Carissa.”

  “Pussy-whipped,” Jirel whispered.

  He knew it was true because Xander twirled his wedding band. “I wish,” he said. “I’m just whipped.” He checked his watch. Jirel rolled his eyes.

  “That why you messed around with that temp last year?”

  “Go to hell,” Xander muttered.

  Jirel shrugged. “You probably should have found a better spot to do it if you didn’t want anyone to know about it.”

  “I have a new partner for you,” Xander said abruptly.

  Jirel stared, working through the sudden change of subject. “What?”

  “I thought you wanted to go back to work,” Xander said as he slipped a bill toward the bartender in exchange for the two beers he set down. “Thanks, man.”

  “I do,” Jirel said, taking his drink. He resisted a frown. “I’d just rather do it without a partner. You even said I was outperforming most of the other solo agents.”

  Xander did not even acknowledge that. “You liked working with Jayne.”

  “Yes, I did,” Jirel said. “But if I’m going to be abandoned again by a coworker I actually trust I’d rather just skip it and keep working on my own.”

  “Should have thought about that before you abused the privilege,” Xander said blithely as he took a drink of his beer.

  Jirel glanced down at the bar with a frown.

  Xander gave him a look. “Sorry. You know what I mean.”

  He knew it wasn’t worth going down that dangerous rabbit hole. “Who is it?” he said.

  “Aviira Rasin. She’s from special ops.”

  “I know who she is,” he said. “But I wasn’t aware that she was looking for a partner. Always thought she was a solo kind of girl.”

  “Well, she’s about to get fired just like you, so, you’re perfect for each other. You can babysit each other. Her Informant cut her a deal to stay in as long as she gets a partner to keep her in line. And, since you’re the only person I have needing a partner right now, voila.”

  “What happened? Last I heard she was riding high off that undercover job she did.”

  “Mattson said something about her being a little too unpredictable when she’s alone. Needs someone to keep an eye on her. He sings her praises otherwise, though.” Xander paused. “How do you know her?”

  “I don’t,” Jirel said. “I said I know who she is. I read her case files on the undercover gig. Eighteen months she was with one of those Hunter groups.” He shook his head. “She’s a genius. I don’t know how she got those psychotics to buy her in like that.”

  “She must be a good liar.”

  “You
don’t fool Hunters with just a good lie,” Jirel said. “In the end she took down one of the biggest cells in the country and sent half of them to prison for life and she was hardly twenty-two years old. The Society owes her big time.”

  “Yeah, well, we still have regulations and apparently she’s pretty fast and loose with breaking them when it’s convenient for her.”

  Jirel shrugged and took a drink. “Anyway. You’d know her if you saw her.”

  Xander rolled his eyes to the ceiling as he tried to place the memory. “Remind me what she looks like?”

  Jirel stared at his drink and tried to sound as neutral as possible. “Red hair.”

  “Oh, that one. The crazy one.” Xander glanced at Jirel and smiled. “Well, have fun with that one, my friend.”

  He sighed, and dared a quick glance at the television. Someone had changed it to ESPN. “Thanks a lot.”

  July 13th – Monday

  ***

  “You’re being transferred out of special investigations?”

  Aviira looked up at Jensen as he stood in the doorway and stared into the office at her with disbelief written on his face. She brushed a stray piece of hair out of her face and went back to piling case files into a cardboard box.

  “Where are you going? You’re not being fired, are you?”

  “No.”

  Jensen came into the office and grabbed one of her hands. She pulled it out of his grasp, but he’d seen the bruises on her knuckles.

  “You attacked another human, didn’t you?”

  “Nobody who didn’t deserve it,” she said, so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.

  “Aviira,” Jensen said. “When did this happen?”

  “Friday night.”

  “And you didn’t call me?”

  She placed the lid on the paper box and sent him a glare. “He deserved a lot worse than what I gave him.” She paused and made a face. “Plus, he spit on me.”

  Jensen’s hand went to his forehead in frustration. When Aviira glanced up at him, his golden eyes—a hereditary gift from a Harpy ancestor a long way down his bloodline—were wide. His dark brown hair was parted to the side and held still with gel; he’d had an important meeting that morning and had to play the professional card. “Mattson told you a dozen times that’s not our call. We can’t just beat the shit out of human targets because we feel like they deserve it.”