Jon F. Merz

Vicarious

Chapter One

The city always looked different after someone had been killed.

At least, that’s what Curran thought as he stood on the rain-slicked street enveloped by a cold mist and cigarette smoke. He imagined the water running off the cracked sidewalks could just as easily be the blood of all the victims of every killer he’d ever stalked.

A lot of rain, he thought.

A lot of blood.

Streetlights and multi-colored neon signs cast weird shadows that bounced off of limousines and nightclub fronts. Beat cops corralled drunken clubgoers while thick yellow police tape drew the attention of every news cameraman in town.

Curran took a final drag on his cigarette and tossed it into the gutter. The red cinder died as it touched the water and got swept away into the storm drain.

Where does all the blood go, Curran wondered as he ducked back inside the nightclub. Where does it all stop?

He heard the low growl — a creeping bassline to the dissonance of voices and other ambient crime scene noises. The heavy gauge steel zipper ground its teeth together; the body bag closed over the corpse inside.

Curran shuddered.

The sound always made him feel so hollow inside, a cobwebbed shell of a man so unlike how he’d been years ago.

“You okay, Steve?”

Curran glanced down. Kwon. The ever-efficient medical examiner’s eyes stared at Curran, concern clearly evident.

“You don’t look so good, pal.”

“Sound of that zipper drives me nuts. Means another person’s died and I’ve got the case.”

“Just be glad you’re hearing it from this side of the bag. Probably worse on the other, amigo.” Kwon squatted next to the bag and gave last minute instructions to his assistant. He stood and looked at Curran.

“An awful thing — this happening to the nightclub circuit.”

“Could have happened anywhere.”

Kwon sighed. “Yeah, but I love these joints. I come dancing down here all the time. Before, people used to ask me what I did, I could have lied. Gig’s up now for sure. I spotted a few waitresses who looked horrified to see me hop out of that meat wagon out front.”

“Your poor rep,” said Curran. “How long before you know what killed him?”

“Are you planning on solving this case tonight?”

Curran looked around the club. The music had long since stopped but some of the lights still whirred overhead, casting reds and oranges and yellows onto barstools and the parquet dance floor. Partially emptied glasses still littered the tables, condensation clearly evident in the warm still air. He looked back at Kwon. “I might get lucky.”

Kwon rubbed his expanding bald spot and nudged the bag with his foot. “Tomorrow, I guess. I gotta get some damned sleep. Been working thirty-six hours straight.”

“Didn’t they put enough money in your budget for help?”

“Sure, but she’s out at a conference in San Francisco right now. Be back in a few days.”

“In the meantime — ”

“In the meantime,” said Kwon, “I wouldn’t know a scalpel if you put one in front of me.”

“Any chance I can get you to crack this guy open tonight?”

Kwon yawned. “I don’t suppose you know a pair of nymphomaniac twin sisters?”

Curran lit a fresh cigarette, took a long inhale, and blew out a thin stream of smoke. “If I did, I’m not so sure I’d share that information with you.”

“What’s so special this guy can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“He’s got no wounds for one thing.”

“Maybe he had a myocardial infarction — a heart attack.”

“There’s no blood pooling anywhere.”

“That’s not necessarily unusual.” Kwon zipped up his jacket.

Curran sucked the cigarette. “No powder burns, either.”

“So he wasn’t shot.”

“No broken bones.”

“None I can find on a crude surface examination anyway.”

“There’s nothing,” said Curran. “I don't like corpses with no discernible signs of death.” Curran watched Kwon's assistants roll the gurney outside. “Especially when dying looks like the last thing that should have happened to them.”

Kwon sighed. “Look pal, this is Boston. We’ve got plenty of bodies with no reason to be dying. But they do anyway. That doesn’t mean they get bumped to the top of the line.”

Curran chewed his lower lip. “How about doing me a personal favor, then?”

Kwon laughed. “What kind of bullcrap is that?”

“No bullcrap.”

“Buddy, how long have we known each other?”

“Maybe five years.”

Kwon nodded and slid his hands into his jacket. “We’ve worked a lot of hellish cases together, you and I. I’m the best friend you’ve got in this town. If you know something about this, you’d better not hold out on me.”

Curran looked beyond the maroon velvet curtains. The shadowy entrance of the club seemed to bleed right into the dark of night outside. Kwon’s crew negotiated the corridor and bounced the gurney out. Curran felt his head begin to pound. He closed his eyes. He saw the same images — different cities and different bodies.

But always the same result.

With no answers.

He opened his eyes and looked at Kwon. “Maybe I've seen this before.”

“Maybe’s are for politicians and other scumbag liars.” Kwon fixed one of his hard stares and waited.

Curran stubbed out the cigarette in a silver ashtray and dropped the butt into a glass of something blue. “Before I came to Boston.”

“Back in the Bureau?”

Curran winced again. Hearing those words still made his gut ache. Five years away from the Washington backstabbers — the Old Boy network that had raped him hard — hadn't dulled his wrath. Curran doubted if anything ever could.

“Yeah. And I'm not excited that I'm seeing it again.”

Kwon held up his hand. “Okay, okay. You bring your car?”

“Parked down the street.”

“Meet me back at the office. Bring some damned coffee.”

“Thanks.”

Curran followed Kwon outside. The November night had turned colder, aided by a fierce wind that swept over Fenway Park and stabbed down into the collar of Curran’s coat. He shivered and walked back up the street toward his car. Around him, the uniforms yanked down the yellow crime scene tape and began laughing away any of the remaining tension.

If only it was that easy, thought Curran. He felt a deep gnaw at the pit of his stomach and frowned. His gut was trying to tell him something.

Curran ignored it.

He knew a lot of cops who went out of their way to trust their instincts. Curran preferred hard facts and cold figures. The more he could rely on science and logic, the better he felt.

He lit a fresh cigarette. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He felt a presence. Curran wheeled around, expecting to see someone.

He saw no one.

Curran stood there, cigarette dangling out of the side of his mouth. His eyes searched the passers-by, looking. For what, he didn’t know. But something felt oddly familiar.

Deja vu?

He frowned. Please no, he thought. Not here in my town.

My new town.

He slid inside the Toyota and shut the flashing blue strobe off. He tucked it back under his seat and sat there for a second, inhaling hard on the filter. After so many medical warnings, Curran may as well have been suckling at the breast of death.

It didn’t bother him much.

What did bother him was this body.

He gunned the engine and backed the car up the street, u-turning and jumping down into Kenmore Square. He took Commonwealth Avenue until it ended near the Public Gardens, swung around and over the backside of Beacon Hill, dropping into Albany Street and parking in an ‘authorized vehicles’ only slot.

He grabbed two black coffees at the twenty-four hour donut stand by Government Center and then cut back toward the Medical Examiner’s office.

At one-thirty in the morning, most security guards would have been fighting sleep, but the old fellow manning the checkpoint at the entrance to the City Morgue looked chipper enough.

“Dr. Kwon says you should go straight on in there,” he said after checking Curran’s identification.

Curran walked down the linoleum floor toward the heavy blue swinging doors. He sighed. The air around him felt cold. Like the death that hung over this entire section of the building. He hated coming here. Hated being surrounded by the dead.

But he knew the answers lay beyond the swing doors. He pushed through.

The outer office consisted of a few small desks, file cabinets and computer terminals. Curran noticed a set of coveralls, an apron, face shield, two pairs of gloves and shoe covers laid out for him. He glanced through the window separating the examination room from the outer office and saw Kwon looking up. His voice spilled out of a metal speaker by Curran’s right side.

“Hurry up. I’d like to get at least two hours sleep tonight.”

“You want the coffee?”

“Leave it for right now.”

Curran slid off his jacket and stepped into the coveralls. “Aren’t these gloves supposed to kept in a sanitary dispenser?”

Kwon smirked behind his plastic shield. “You aren’t going to make this guy any sicker, Steve. Get in here already.”

“You got any of that…stuff?”

Kwon sighed. “Second drawer in my desk.”

Curran opened it and found the small vial of eucalyptus oil. He dabbed it under each nostril, slid on his shield and gloves and then walked through the door.

Kwon waved him over. “You made good time.”

“You made better. I wouldn’t have thought you’d have him unloaded already.”

“I have help,” said Kwon. “Couple of heavies who can haul bags like nothing make all the difference in the world.”

Curran glanced around and saw they were alone. “Where’s the diener?”

“Gone for the night. I don’t need to remind you we normally perform our autopsies between 8 in the morning and four in the afternoon. This is a bit unorthodox.”

“The death could well be as well.”

“Well, since you insisted on this, you’ll be my assistant tonight.”

“Me?”

Kwon smiled. “No one else is here, pal.”

“You know I don’t do well at these things.”

“Then tonight’s your lucky night.” He smiled. “Are you ready?”

Curran noticed his breathing had increased. Keep it together, Steve. He clenched and unclenched his hands.

“Yeah.”

Kwon switched on the recorder with his other hand. Curran heard him clear his voice and begin speaking the particulars into the tape.

Curran looked down at the corpse. Nude. Limp. Completely devoid of life. But how had he died?

Kwon measured the body and called out the numbers to the recorder. He looked at Curran. “Help me with the body block, would you?”

“The what?”

Kwon held up a small rectangle of plastic. “Got to slide this under his back so I can get to the chest cavity better. You lift and I’ll slide it under.”

Curran frowned. “Wonderful.” He slid his arms under the small of the back and the neck and lifted. Kwon slid the block under and Curran let it down. The corpse’s arms dangled back slightly, making the chest protrude upwards more.

“Good,” said Kwon. “Preparation for the initial cut. Begin making a Y incision from the pubic bone up and branching off toward each deltoid…”

Curran listened to the running commentary. He saw Kwon’s scalpel cut deep into the skin. A red line broke in the scalpel’s wake, but not as much blood appeared as Curran would have thought.

“It’s pooled,” said Kwon. “Only a bit presents at the initial cut if the corpse has been this way for a while.” He glanced at Curran. “Ready to pull the flaps back?”

Curran took a deep breath. “Guess so.”

Kwon nodded. “Let me cut the muscles and soft tissue off the chest wall.” He stooped lower and Curran heard him make some quick cuts. He leaned back, bloody blade in one hand. “Okay. Pull the chest flap up and over his face.”

Curran grasped the angled sides of the initial cut and felt the skin give easily. It flopped up over the face. The underside reminded him of a pizza without the cheese on it. The smell hit him a second later. “Christ.”

Kwon frowned. “You know, to me this smells like raw lamb meat.”

“Wonderful.”

“What — you never had a gyro before?”

“Only one I ever ate gave me food poisoning back in high school.”

“You never had another one ever again?”

“Do we need to discuss food right now?”

“Sorry.” He hefted a small electric saw. “Let’s open the rib cage.” The saw switched on with a high-pitched whine that sounded a bit lower in octave than the drill at the dentist. Kwon leaned over the chest cavity and Curran heard the blade bite into bone. A small amount of smoke crept out. Small bits of white bone leapt out of the cavity. Curran thanked God he hadn’t eaten in a while. Most of the autopsies he’d seen before were after all the dissection had occurred. Going through the process bit by bit was something new to him.

Curran wasn’t sure he wanted to repeat the experience any time soon.

Kwon lifted off the plate of ribs and handed it to Curran. “Put it down there in that tray.” Curran did so and looked back to see Kwon examining what he thought looked like the heart.

“What are you doing now?”

Kwon began probing with his finger and then made a cut. “Opening the pericardial sac. I need to find the pulmonary artery — where the blood leaves the heart — and check it out.”

“For what?”

“Thromboembolus. Ever hear of it?”

“No.”

“It’s a blood clot that’s broken off somewhere else in the body. It travels into the heart, gets lodged there — usually by the pulmonary artery, and causes sudden death.” He glanced up. “I know you’ve got some theory of how this happened, but I’d like to be able to rule out any possibles.”

“I’d rather it was something like that what you just described,” said Curran.

Kwon grimaced and prodded for another few seconds. “So much for that.”

“Nothing?”

“Nada. We’ll cut the abdominal walls next so we can get to the organs inside.” Kwon made some more cuts with the scalpel and Curran saw the sides of the stomach fall apart.

Kwon leaned back. “Okay, pal. Here’s where we play hand-off. I’ll remove the organs and you place them down there in those trays for dissection later on, okay?”

Curran winced. “Great.”

“It’s in one big block. Be cool.” He pointed at the counter. “Hand me that string would you?”

“What’s this for?”

Kwon felt around the neck. “Cut me off two lengths about six inches long. I’ve got to cut the subclavian and carotid arteries. I’ll tie ‘em off and that way the mortician will see the string and know where to inject the embalming fluids.”

“Nice of you to make it convenient for them.”

Kwon leaned back. “Okay. Now I’ll make some cuts, give you the organ block and then we’ll move on to the brain.”

Curran watched Kwon make a few quick slashes with his scalpel. He heard the squishy and springy sounds of tendons and ligaments snapping after being cut. He saw the precision with which Kwon operated.

And still he didn’t feel comfortable.

Kwon looked at him. “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

Kwon scooped out the organ block, which ran from just under the neck to down into the intestines and slid the gooey mass into Curran’s cradled arms.

Curran saw his arms instantly slick over with bright red. His fingers closed around the organs and he hurriedly dumped the block into the stainless steel tray over the corpse’s feet.

Kwon yanked the body block out and positioned it under the corpse’s head. To Curran, it looked like the corpse was reaching up for a kiss. Kwon’s scalpel bit into the corpse’s head behind his right ear. Kwon cut all the way up and over the top of the head, down to behind the other ear. He took the scalpel out and smiled at Curran.

“Ever scalped someone before?”

“Excuse me?”

“There are now two sections of the head. The front flap and the rear flap. We need them both pulled back to expose the skull. Which end do you want?”

Curran wanted a cigarette. Badly. “Front, I guess.”

“Don’t be afraid to use a little strength. That can be tough sometimes.” He motioned for Curran to position his hands. “Okay, give it a good yank.”

Curran felt his fingertips slide under the lip of skin on either side. He pulled and it suddenly came loose in his hands. The skin came down just over the forehead. It looked like the corpse had a mask halfway off his face.

Kwon repeated the procedure for the rear flap. Curran saw the skull exposed and tried to keep from remembering what the image looked like.

“Hand me that Stryker saw, would you?”

Curran picked it up and handed it to Kwon. Another high-pitch whine filled the air. Kwon bent low and began cutting around the equator of the skull. Curran stood back.

Please, he prayed, please don’t let it be.

Kwon finished cutting and looked up. “You okay, Steve?”

Curran opened his eyes. “Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Are we almost done?”

“I’m ready to remove the calvarium — what we call the top of the skull. Don’t get freaked out by the sound.”

“Is it bad?”

Kwon grinned and grasped the top of the skull. Curran heard a wet sucking sound and then the top came off in Kwon’s hands.

No!

“Jesus H. Christ.”

Curran exhaled. It couldn’t be. Not here. Not now!

Kwon leaned back against the counter, skullcap still in his hand. He pointed at the exposed brain. “Is that your theory, Mr. Homicide Detective?”

Curran nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“You’ve seen this crap before?”

“Yeah.”

“That brain is green, Steve.”

Curran sighed. “Yeah. It is.”

“That’s not normal. Not one goddamn bit.”

Curran shut his eyes, but the images already filled his mind. After all this time. After the peace. The quiet.

Shattered.

God help me, thought Curran. God help us all.

Chapter Two

Curran drove the long way back to his three-bedroom Colonial in West Roxbury after the autopsy. They’d finished around two-thirty. Curran was due at work by nine, which meant he’d have about six hours worth of sleep.

He figured he needed about a million times that amount to help make him forget the realization that the horror he thought he’d left behind all those years ago — the horror that had infected his life — seemed to have once again returned to his world.

Cold drizzle still coated Boston’s streets and gave them a black tarry look. Curran could almost imagine his tires getting stuck in the wet ooze, like some kind of evil force was reaching up for his car.

And him.

His right hand withdrew the crumpled pack of Marlboros and flipped it until one of the butts inside tumbled onto the seat next to him. He jabbed the cigarette lighter in his car and waited for it to pop moments later.

I ought to quit these damned things, he thought. Gotta be a cheaper method of suicide out there. The lighter popped and he almost grinned.

Later.

He touched the hot metal coil to the end of the tobacco stick and inhaled, nursing the cinder. It caught and he took a lungful of smoky death into his body.

He savored the nicotine.

His pulse steadied.

Could it be something else that had killed the guy tonight? Some other cause for the death that he hadn’t looked for yet?

Kwon had sent some blood down for a toxicology work-up, but he seemed convinced that the green brain was somehow a major factor in the death.

Unfortunately, so was Curran.

He already knew what to expect from the toxicology screen. There’d be substantial amounts of glucose present, the result of an incredible surge of adrenaline just prior to death. Curran had seen the toxicology reports from six other cases back when he’d been with the FBI.

Toxicology hadn’t helped one bit.

Nothing had.

He wheeled his way down the Jamaicaway, rounding dangerous curves that sent most drivers whimpering for second gear. Curran handled them at forty miles per hour, enjoying the slight fishtail action of the car before he righted it again.

It had to be him. The same killer Curran had unsuccessfully tracked. A killer so adept at dealing death that his victims showed no signs of it, other than the green brain.

The sole souvenir of their demise.

Curran drove past Holy Name on Centre Street. The spire rose high above the other rooftops nearby. Almost like it was calling out to get his attention. But he hadn’t been to church in years. His faith had suffered. Curran wasn’t sure it could ever be salvaged.

Not after…

He blocked the images and drove on, anxious to get home.

His mind’s eye played back the image of the corpse on the floor of the nightclub. According to the wallet the first uniforms found on him, Gary William Fields was thirty-two years old. His short brown hair and thin mustache made him look older while the sleek black satin shirt, gold chain, and tight black pants made him look sleazy.

Witnesses? Hardly. Curran frowned and skirted another pothole. The people closest to Fields when he suddenly dropped said that they hadn’t noticed a thing. And the club had been far too crowded for it to seem unusual if another person wandered close by.

The club’s video surveillance system covered everyone coming into and leaving the club, but Curran doubted he’d get lucky there. Thousands of people passed through the doors of a club each night. Still, it was a lead one of the junior grunts in Homicide would no doubt get stuck with. Especially if they eventually got lucky.

Luck.

Curran sniffed. As if such a thing even existed.

He slid the window down and tossed the cigarette butt into the slipstream. What made Fields so special that he had to die tonight? And would this mark the start of another wave of bodies just as it had all those years ago?

The key, he decided as he turned on to his street, was Fields. In the morning, he’d pore through the computer databases and put a picture together of what Fields might have done that warranted someone killing him.

Curran felt pretty certain he knew who had killed him.

But after so many years, he wondered why.

In the darkness he felt the pressure of its gaze. The heavy stare cloaked his mind from an unseen source, boring into his skull with relentless zeal. He could feel it lapping at the fringes of his subconscious, tasting and drooling with desire at the thought of causing mayhem in the city.

It will be.

The velvet voice oozed over his mind, seeping into his head. It repeated itself over and over again like a mantra of evil.

It will be.

Curran wanted to shout but his throat felt thick. He wanted to claw at the voice but a million arms grabbed him and held him fast. He struggled but nothing would work. His legs felt rubbery and his arms were pinned behind him.

In the darkness in front of him, a face emerged. But it was unlike any he’d ever seen before. It didn’t look human. It didn’t look like anything he knew.

Two cold yellow eyes swept over him. He felt himself go cold as the stare bore down on him.

From a gaping maw a spindly tongue rolled out, flicking at the air by Curran’s face. Flecks of spittle dropped onto Curran’s skin and he almost retched. The tongue touched his cheek. Curran grimaced as the wet sandpaper rubbed against him.

The voice spoke inside his head again. You will never be able to stop me.

“Why are you back?”

I never left.

“Why now?”

Because now is the time. It will be.

“NO!”

Sunlight exploded into Curran’s eyes as they snapped open. He shot upright in bed, whirling his arms around trying to punch and kick at the same time.

“-wha?”

The alarm clock on his nightstand read 6:30.

Curran slumped back against the pillow.

A dream?

“Jesus Christ.”

A nightmare?

The sheets — what Curran thought were arms holding him — had wrapped themselves around his body. They felt wet. Sticky. Soaked with Curran’s sweat. In the struggle of the nightmare, he’d managed to get tangled up in them.

Or was it a nightmare?

The voice.

Curran rubbed his eyes. That voice. It spoke to me. And I spoke to it?

Impossible.

He felt wrecked. Like the four hours had rushed by in the space of five minutes. Curran glanced at the bedroom window, at the gray daylight poking in through the wooden blinds he’d installed a few months previously. Another cold November day.

But Curran wasn’t thrilled at what today might bring.

More sleep, he thought as he closed his eyes again. He needed more sleep.

If he could just keep the dark at bay.

And the evil he knew it contained.

Curran took Centre Street down to Columbus Avenue to work after he’d showered and shaved. Next to him on the seat, he’d brought a large container of orange juice and a banana muffin — testament to his fledgling exercise program. Curran wasn’t fat and he wasn’t out of shape, but he did want to lose a few paunchy pounds.

He sighed when the glass brick building that house the Boston Police Department headquarters appeared. A few years before, the department occupied a white stone building over on Berkeley Street just outside of Copley Square. Over the years, the number of cops inside had grown while space had dwindled. The city finally coughed up some money and built a new police headquarters.

Curran would have rather stayed at Berkeley Street and he knew plenty of cops who felt the same. The new building looked like someone had gone bargain shopping on the set of the Brady Bunch and pocketed the savings. The building was a shoebox of glass bricks and blocks. Even the simple sign wasn’t original. It was a direct rip-off of the one used by Scotland Yard.

Curran parked his car and walked into the building, showing his identification to the bored desk sergeant before heading upstairs on the elevator to the homicide division.

He sat at his desk, placed the bag of orange juice and muffins on one side and then unlocked his file drawer. Just as he was about to reach in, the phone on his desk purred. He grabbed it.

“Homicide, Curran.”

“It's Kwon.”

Curran glanced at his watch. “It's only nine. Shouldn't you be home asleep?”

“I should be, yeah. But I’m not. I'm at the office. You busy?”

“I was going to get a detailed jacket on the deceased from last night. Try to figure out why he got clipped.”

“Can you come down later? I want to run some more tests on this guy’s brain and see if we can’t figure out exactly why it is…the way it is.”

I already know, thought Curran. But he couldn’t very well tell Kwon that modern science didn’t have an explanation for it — annoying as that was to Curran. “Gimme two hours.”

“Good.” Kwon disconnected leaving Curran holding a dead phone and looking at his banana-nut muffins with a sudden lack of appetite.

He took a bite and swallowed, flushing it down with a healthy drag of orange juice. He turned and looked at the files in the drawers. Toward the back, he scooped out a five-inch stack of them and spread them out over his desk. Most of them were marked with the words “FBI: Official Government Property.”

Curran opened several of them and instantly felt himself transported back to when these cases were still fresh. He felt the sudden stir of adrenaline. The thrill of the chase reappeared.

For just a moment.

Now the case files were several years old.

Dusty.

Old.

Like Curran.

He frowned.

These files might just be useful again. Curran hoped they would be. He didn’t want to have to go through that hell again of trying to solve a case all of his former colleagues considered a dead-end.

Of course, things were different now. Now he didn’t have a wife to worry about. And now he didn’t have to think about his career with the illustrious FBI.

He slid the files aside and looked at his dark computer monitor. Curran liked it fine when it was dark and lifeless. Unfortunately, nowadays everyone worked on the things. And Curran’s old method of writing and using notebooks was deemed archaic.

There were a few older cops who still worked like Curran did. But most of them had been farmed out to the district offices where they couldn’t infect the minds of younger cops coming up through the ranks.

Somehow, they’d missed Curran.

He grabbed the muffin and took another bite, tasting the walnuts and banana flavors mixing together. He chewed slowly and then flicked the computer on.

It beeped once and then began prompting him for a series of access codes Curran still wasn’t sure how he’d managed to memorize them all. Security had become a lot tighter in recent years thanks to the war on terrorism.

Curran didn’t mind this part, though. After all, he’d lost a lot of friends in the attacks in New York and Washington. Security was one thing he could put up with.

After completing the log-on process, Curran switched over to the criminal database and entered the name of last night’s victim into it. The computer beeped once and then the screen blossomed into a long list.

Curran opened his favorite notebook and began taking notes.

By eight-thirty, he had a decent picture of the victim from the previous night.

And it wasn't a pretty one.

Gary William Fields, at the ripe young age of 32, had been a real slimeball. Curran looked at a rap sheet printout twice as long as his left leg and shook his head. Starting at twelve, Fields had been involved in a series of burglaries. By the time he was fifteen, he'd graduated to grand theft auto, assault, and armed robbery. He served a stretch at Norfolk House of Corrections back in the late eighties and then got out early on good behavior.

Good behavior. Curran smirked. As if there really was such a thing.

As soon as Fields got out, he went from bad to worse. Suspected in a series of horrible armed rapes out in Amherst, he was never indicted. And there was also suspicion that he'd killed at least five people in connection with drug trafficking. Sprinkled here and there were relatively “minor” incidents of indecent exposure to children, driving under the influence, assault, conspiracy, and racketeering charges.

“Real piece of work,” muttered Curran. He sighed.

If only this was a simple murder case. If only the modus operandi didn’t seem so familiar to Curran.

If only…a lot of things.

He grabbed his beeper off the desk and picked up his car down at the parking lot. Traffic crawled up Columbus Avenue thanks to the rush hour being in full swing. Curran flipped around the radio station until he found a music station he could actually tolerate. Lately, there didn’t seem to be many of them left.

Kwon split his time between the Albany Street office and the morgue down at Boston City Hospital. Most of the time he was in both places at once. At least that was what people thought. Kwon worked harder than six people and still managed to have an unusually active social life.

Unlike Curran.

He parked beneath the Suffolk County Court House close to where the runoff traffic from the federal offices parked. Upstairs, Kwon was still finishing the paper work when he walked in.

“'Morning.”

“The hell,” said Kwon. “I'm dead on my feet here.” He finished writing something and then looked up. “Got any thoughts on last night?”

“Sure. I had a nightmare about it and everything.”

“A nightmare? You?” Kwon smiled. “I’ve never known you to be scared of anything.”

“Some things,” said Curran. “They scare me plenty.”

Kwon’s smile disappeared. “Like green brains?”

“Not the brain’s themselves. But what they represent.”

Kwon looked like he was going to ask a question, but he never completed it. The door buzzer sounded. Curran looked at the office. “What’s that?”

“Someone’s coming down. Family, I think. Gonna ID him.”

“Is he…presentable?”

“Yeah, I put him back together.” Kwon held up a needle and thread. “I worked my way through college in a funeral home. So, what'd you find out about this guy, anyway?”

“Grade A scumbag,” said Curran. “Rap sheet's a testimony to that fact. If he didn’t buy it last night, someone would have killed him sooner or later.”

“So somebody did us a favor,” said Kwon. “Getting rid of scum like this, eh?”

“If this is what I think it is, it won’t seem like much of a favor.”

“Excuse me.”

Curran turned around at the same time as Kwon and found himself staring into the deep blue eyes of a thirty-something woman with short brownish hair and carefully sculpted eyebrows.

“Hi,” said Curran.

Kwon moved in front of him. “Can I help you?”

“I'm Lauren Fields. You've got my brother here, I think.”

Kwon looked at Curran. “Yes. Yes we do.” He guided her over to the gurney in the examination room so she could see the body laying on it. Curran followed.

Her eyebrows came down slightly and a frown pressed itself across her face. Curran wondered if she'd cry.

She didn't. She just kept staring at his face. “That's him.”

“Sorry for your loss,” said Curran.

She almost smirked. “'Grade A scumbag', was the term I believe I overheard you using in reference to him.”

Curran cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, that was probably not the best choice of words.”

“Actually, I'd say you were right on target.” She nodded at the gurney. “That man caused a lot of heart ache. God knows how he survived as long as he did without someone doing what happened last night to him earlier.”

Kwon guided her back toward the office. “I've got some forms for you to sign, Ms. Fields.”

Curran tagged along. “You knew about his past?”

“Of course. How could I not know what he was up to. We grew up together, he and I. I always knew what kind of trouble he was involved with.”

“But you couldn't stop him.”

She stopped and turned. “Just who are you, exactly?”

“Forgive him,” said Kwon. “He's just a nosy cop with no tact.”

“A nosy cop,” said Curran, “Who's investigating the death of your brother.” He held out his hand. “Steve Curran.”

She took it and kept looking into his eyes. “I can't say it's a pleasure to meet you, detective.” Her eyes crinkled slightly. “Given the circumstances.”

“I guess not.”

“You can probably let go of my hand now, too.”

Curran stepped back. “Sorry.”

She turned to Kwon. “Those forms?”

“Over here.” Kwon gave Curran a frown and then led them into the office. While Lauren signed the various forms, Curran examined her as covertly as he knew how.

She obviously kept in shape judging by the trim outline concealed under the slacks and blouse she wore. The outfit itself was modest, neither revealing skin nor cleavage. But somehow, Curran found it appealing anyway.

She finished and straightened, flattening the wrinkles in her blouse with one hand as she tucked away a fountain pen with the other. “Is there anything else?”

“We'll let you know when the body can be taken by the funeral home for proper burial,” said Kwon.

“Thank you.”

“Ms. Fields?”

She turned to face Curran. “Yes?”

“I wonder if we could speak a few moments about your brother? It’d be a big help.”

“You're putting in an awful lot of time to my brother's case, Detective. Not something I'd expect for the likes of someone like him.”

“I'm putting in the sort of time my career demands. Professional,” said Curran. “Whether or not your brother was the kind of guy I'd recommend for sainthood isn't the point. A crime was committed and I aim to see it solved.”

“Admirable.”

Kwon frowned. “Don't let him fool you, Ms. Fields. Curran is probably the straightest-laced cop you'll ever find. If it's work, he gives one hundred and ten percent.”

“That must not leave much time for anything else,” said Lauren.

Curran shot Kwon a look. “I take my job seriously is all. I’m lucky to have a lot of time to devote to my job.”

“Not many people in today's world commit themselves so entirely.”

Curran shrugged. “Can I take that as a yes that you'll sit down and talk to me about your brother?”

“You aren't going to posthumously persecute him for some of the things he did while he was alive, are you?”

Curran smiled. “Last I checked, I don't think our courts work that way.”

“All right then.” She dug into her pocketbook and extracted a vanilla business card. “My number's on the back. Call me this evening. I've got some free time then.”

“I'll do that.”

She nodded at Kwon. “Nice meeting you. Please let me know about the body. A proper burial's important to me.”

“Will do,” said Kwon. He and Curran watched her go.

“Damn,” said Curran.

“Kind of an understatement, Steve. She’s a knockout,” said Kwon. “But hey, you got her number. That's gotta count for something.”

“No thanks to you trying to cut me down at every opportunity.”

“Didn't you once tell me nothing worth having ever comes easy? I know how much you groove on challenges. I was just trying to make you appreciate the gal.”

Curran smirked. “Of course you were. And really, I do appreciate it.”

“Always glad to help out,” said Kwon. “Now will you get out of here and let me work?”

“I’m going,” said Curran.

At the door Kwon stopped him. “Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“I want details. You got it?”

Curran smiled. “Sorry, I don’t kiss and tell.”

Kwon sniffed. “Steve, if you get any kind of play at all, you won’t have to say a word. It’ll be all over your face in big bold letters: FIRST TIME IN YEARS.”

Curran gave him a smile, then extended his middle finger and walked out.

Chapter Three

I don’t know why I agreed to this, thought Lauren as she entered the restaurant. She could already see the smile on Detective Curran’s face, but kept her own face neutral.

He stood as she got to the table. “You look great.”

Lauren narrowed her eyes. “That’s not usually the type of comment I hear about this outfit.” She ran her hands over the white blouse and gray herringbone skirt. “Most people think I look too much like a school teacher.”

Curran smiled. “I used to have crushes on all my teachers.”

Lauren ignored him, glancing around the room. “Interesting choice for our meeting — pastel pinks and yellows on the walls and stainless steel lighting.”

“This is gourmet Chinese. The owner used to collect art all over Asia so this is something of a gallery for his acquisitions.”

“Gourmet Chinese? What exactly does that mean?”

“Means you don’t have to skirt puddles of grimy water and urine down in Chinatown to get a decent meal. You do eat Chinese, right?”

“Sure.” She noticed him staring at her neck. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing at all. I was just wondering if that gold cross you’re wearing is something special.”

She fingered the cross, feeling the cool metal against her fingertips. “Special is measured in a lot of ways, Detective.”

“Steve.”

She eyed him again and he looked away. Lauren almost grinned. She knew her gaze could be unsettling when she wanted it to be.

Curran turned his attention to the menu. “The Mandarin beef is excellent here.”

“That sounds fine.”

He put the menu down. “Is something bothering you?”

Should she tell him? Her stomach felt queasy then. She noticed the smells of the restaurant and felt her appetite wane. Lauren took a breath and exhaled. “Why did you ask me here?”

“I told you earlier, to find out some background about your brother.”

She shook her head. “You say that, but I feel like there’s something more.”

“What are you — psychic?”

“Are you confirming my feeling?”

Curran looked at her. “I'm not the enemy here, Ms. Fields.”

“Lauren.”

He smiled. She shrugged. “Seems only fair if I have to call you Steve.”

Curran folded his white linen napkin on his lap. “I’m just a cop trying to figure this whole thing out.”

“Figure what out: my brother's killer or me?”

Curran smiled. “Yes.”

She tried to hide the small grin. “At least you're honest.”

“So?”

She sighed. “There's not a lot to tell. My brother was the only real family I had left. Our parents died a number of years ago.”

“But you don’t seem all that broken up about his death. You said yourself this morning that he caused a lot of heart ache.”

Heartache. If only it had been that and nothing else. If only he’d only caused a fraction of the horror he’d wrought. She sipped some water. “My brother was a complete piece of garbage for the majority of his life.”

“I think we’ve got most of it in his jacket down at headquarters.”

Her stomach churned again. You don’t know any of it, she wanted to say. Nothing! She wanted to yell and cry and vomit then. Even after so many years, the pain could still surge without warning.

“Are you all right?”

She took another sip of water. It slid down her throat, cold against the rising heat within. She felt flushed and wondered if Curran could see the turmoil coursing throughout her. He seemed astute enough.

“I’m fine.”

Curran’s eyebrows waggled a bit but he went back to studying the menu. She felt better with his eyes not boring into her.

“You’re not being entirely up front with me, Lauren.”

“There may be some things I’m not ready to share.”

He looked up again. “Even if they help me catch this killer? Even if they help save the life of another person?”

“It’s not that easy.”

He nodded. “I’ve seen a lot of miserable crap in my life. I know not everything is as it seems on the surface.”

That was the problem. On the surface, Lauren could keep everything calm. But deep down inside she knew the death of her brother would haunt her for years. Just as he had in life.

“I don’t see how what I could tell you would help you catch this killer. And it’s probably better that I don’t.”

Curran set his menu down and stared at her again. She could see his eyes soften, almost like his pupils had expanded. Darkened. They drew her in. She found her breathing relaxing. She felt her shoulders loosen.

“Whenever you want to tell me, that will be fine.”

Even his voice had softened. Deepened. It almost seemed to resonate within her. She felt the heat dissipating.

The waiter came by and Curran gave the order all the while still looking into her eyes. When the waiter disappeared again, Curran broke the eye contact and took a sip of his water.

“Are you all right now?”

Lauren smiled. “Fine. Thank you.”

Curran grinned. “For what?”

“Whatever you just did there. I felt like I was being relaxed. Almost hypnotized.”

“Oh that.”

“Yes. That.”

“You wouldn’t believe the things you pick up being a cop. I learned that from a psychologist one time. I probably shouldn’t have done it with you, but you looked so concerned — no, terrified. I figured it wouldn’t hurt if I took you down a notch.”

Lauren nodded. “It worked quite well.”

“You feel like talking any now?”

“Do we have to?”

“No. We don’t have to do anything except eat. But it would help me out an awful lot if I knew something more about your brother. Especially since I can see there’s plenty that didn’t show up in his file.”

She sighed. Would it ever get easier? Would it ever go away entirely? There was only way to find out.

“You know all about how he started breaking into homes, right?”

Curran nodded. “Sure.”

“And then he worked his way up to stealing cars. He used to get into fights a lot, too.”

“Assault. Yeah, I saw plenty of that in the jacket.”

“Was he suspected of murder?”

“Couple of times. Nothing ever stuck to him. Especially since he got involved in organized crime back in the late 80’s.”

“He killed easily enough, my brother did.” Lauren closed her eyes for a moment, trying to shut out the images of her brother covered in blood coming back one night.

Curran’s voice was a whisper. “What else, Lauren?”

Lauren looked down. Her eyes felt moist. Hot. Her throat closed. She clutched the napkin under the table. Twisting it into knots.

“Have you ever done any reading on the criminal mind?”

Curran nodded. “Most of us cops have.”

“Then you probably know that the experts always say that criminals — the really deviant ones — don’t start out as horrible as they eventually become. They start small at first.”

“An experimentation stage, in other words.”

“Exactly. Experimentation.” The word made her shudder.

The hot and sour soup arrived. Lauren didn’t look at it. Neither did Curran.

“Go on.”

“In order for a creature of habit to become that, he first needs to find a habit he enjoys. Do you follow me?”

“I don’t really know.”

She looked at him. “Evil doesn’t exist solely on its own, Steve. It can’t exist without being nurtured. An evil act cannot stand on its own; it needs roots. It needs time to grow.”

“You’re likening this to a seed.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing. My brother didn’t become a monster overnight. He didn’t even become a monster just in the pages of whatever file you have on him down at the police station.” She took a deep breath. “He started a long time ago. Ages before he came to the attention of the police.” She turned away. “He started in the shadows and the whispers of dark scary nights when no one else was around. No one…but me.”

Curran cleared his throat. “Lauren-”

“No. Don’t stop me, Steve. Please.”

“We don’t need to talk about this now. Not here.”

“If not now then when? I’ve kept things to myself for too long.” She smiled around the tears that dribbled out of her eyes. “Believe me, I walked the path of the victim for years. It's a stupid waste of time. Far better to make peace with the past you can't change and forge ahead into the future. That's become my mantra of sorts.”

“That's a tough path to walk alone.”

“It’s the toughest thing I’ve ever done.” She sat silent for a minute before looking at the soup. The swirling contents mirrored the churning deep down in her bowels. The thought of putting any of it into her mouth repulsed her. She bit down on her lip, trying to stem the rising gorge at the back of her throat.

“My brother raped me, Steve.”

He nodded like he’d known. Like he’d been able to see into her soul and feel her torment.

“Was that the start of it?”

The waiter reappeared with the main dishes. Lauren watched the plate of beef, set off with red peppers and broccoli, sizzle on the table. The waiter brought two small rice bowls, each packed with white grains. The Szechuan chicken completed the meal. Curran didn’t acknowledge the food and the waiter looked annoyed as he walked away.

Lauren waited until they were alone again. “It didn’t seem so evil at first. Does that sound foolish of me?” She shrugged. “Maybe it is.”

“It doesn’t.”

She tried to smile. “But maybe that’s what makes evil so potent: in the beginning it’s never easy to see.”

“What happened?”

Lauren looked away from the food. “At first it was the silly kind of stuff a brother and sister might do. Peek-a-boo here and there, you know? We were both young. It could be forgiven by even the most uptight therapist as completely natural.”

“But it didn’t stay there.”

“No.” Lauren sighed. “When it became too much for him — when his hormones became too much for him to control — he forced himself on me. Countless times.”

“You couldn’t tell anyone?”

“It’s funny that everyone who hears about sexual abuse thinks it’s the easiest thing in the world to just tell someone.”

“I wasn’t saying that-“

“But it’s not, you know? It’s the scariest moment in your life when it happens. And when it keeps happening. How could I tell anyone? I thought I’d been the reason why he did what he did. I thought I was to blame.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“But in some way it felt like it was. I don’t expect you to understand that. I doubt very much anyone who hasn’t gone through what victims of those crimes go through would ever understand it. It’s the most horrible feeling in the world. I didn’t feel safe anywhere. I couldn’t hide. I couldn’t run away. All I could do was wait for the next time. And pray every time would go faster than the last. That he’d…finish quicker than before and leave me alone to cry into my pillow again.”

She saw him lower his eyes again. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

“Don’t try.” She sighed. “It happened throughout most of my junior and senior year in high school. Thankfully, he left soon after to live on his own. He found…other playmates.”

“Victims, more likely.”

“That's probably true.” She sighed. “My brother, he was probably one of the most evil people I ever met. Him being my brother didn't make that fact any easier to take. I heard about his atrocities. He used to even brag sometimes about things he’d done.”

“He used to visit you?”

“He tried to. I moved around a lot but somehow he used to find a way to run into me. He never touched me after he moved out, but I could still see the desire in his eyes. There was that gleam. But there was something more — something vile about him. In so many ways, he seemed to bleed lechery like it was the plague.”

“You know if he used to prey on anyone else?”

“He used to brag about his sexual conquests all the time. Whether they were true or not, I don’t know.” She felt her stomach lurch again. “The odd thing is, I can't figure out who would want to kill him. I mean, sure he had enemies, but the kind of enemies he had wouldn't have killed him in such a nondescript way.”

“Your brother had ties to organized crime. If they’d wanted him dead, it would have been a showy execution.”

“Bullets flying everywhere, yes.” She frowned. “But instead…”

“I know,” said Curran. “It doesn't make sense.”

“Something else that doesn’t make sense.” She peered into his eyes. “You.”

Curran grinned. “Me?”

“You don't seem nearly as fazed by this as the medical examiner did.”

“Yeah, well, I see a lot more garbage than Kwon does.”

She shook her head. “That’s not it. I get the feeling this case almost seems…familiar to you.”

She stared at him. Curran looked away and toyed with his chopsticks. “I might have heard about some cases sort of similar to this.”

Lauren frowned and stabbed her own chopsticks into the bowl of rice. “You’re lying.”

Curran removed her chopsticks. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

He pointed. “Never leave them pointing straight up in a bowl of rice.”

“You’re schooling me on etiquette now? That’s going quite a ways to change the subject.”

Curran shook his head. “Leaving your chopsticks like that means death in most Asian cultures. They look at it as an omen of sorts.”

“How’d you get so acquainted with Asian culture?”

“Military.”

“Before you joined the police?”

“Before I joined the FBI.”

Curran was a G Man? That surprised her.. “You were with the Bureau?”

He smirked. “Impressed? Don’t be.”

She smiled. “I wouldn’t tell you if I was. And I still think you’re lying.”

“Maybe I can’t talk about it in front of you.”

She frowned. “That’s ridiculous. I just sat here and spilled out a host of ugly skeletons that most folks would try to bury. And you can’t even discuss your experiences with unexplained deaths?” Lauren rested her elbows on the tabletop. “Any time you want to talk will be fine.”

He sighed. “You don’t give up easily.”

“I’ve been told that.”

Curran sighed. “When I worked in the FBI, I came across a series of murders that happened in Miami. Unexplained deaths, all of them.”

“How many were there?”

“That we knew of? Five in Miami. Privately, I suspected there were many more.”

“So what happened?”

“I got assigned the cases. I was a young hotshot eager for a tough case. I guess I wanted to prove myself as capable. I tried my damnedest to do just that.”

“But?”

Curran frowned and Lauren watched his eyes go dark again. But they didn’t stare at her any longer. Curran was a million miles away. She watched what must have been awful memories pour across his face in rapid succession. Dark shadows that creased his forehead and made the crows feet at the edges of his eyes seem more pronounced. What has he gone through, she wondered.

“It didn’t work out,” he said.

Lauren never blinked. “I just watched a dozen nightmares play across your face. That was some ‘but.’”

“Probably better if we don’t discuss that right now. I may not be as strong as you.”

“All right.”

He sighed and reached for his water. “They stopped eventually — the murders I mean.”

“In Miami?”

“Yeah. Thing is, for a serial killer, which is what we pigeonholed this guy as, it didn't quite make sense. The experts figured he'd start up again somewhere else. Once the fury got too much for him to handle.”

“You keep saying 'him.' Do you know for sure it was a man?”

Curran shrugged. “Statistically, most serial killers are white males in their mid-thirties. And I guess for some reason, right at the beginning, I felt the killer was a man.”

“So, were the experts right?”

“Yeah. They were right. Six months later. Dallas. Another bunch of bodies with no discernible marks on them start showing up. Each one during the post mortem had characteristics that fit with how your brother died.”

“Like what?”

“Like blood work showing an abnormally high level of glucose spikes just prior to death.”

“Glucose?”

“It’s a side effect of a sudden adrenaline rushes. Like what might happen if the victim knew they were in trouble. It’s that fight or flight instinct response programmed in us all.”

“But they didn’t fight, did they?”

“And they couldn’t flee, either. So this massive dump of adrenaline floods their system. On the outside, it almost looked like they’d been scared to death.”

“There was nothing else that would help unravel the case?”

“Each victim did have a peculiar oddity to them.”

“What’s that?”

“During the post-mortem examination, the prosector — that’s the guy who does the autopsy — discovered the victims — all of them — had green brains.”

Lauren leaned back. “Are you joking?”

“I don't have an explanation for it. I'm just relating what I found out.”

“Did my brother-?”

“Yeah,” said Curran. “Kwon and I did the PM last night — this morning really — and confirmed what I thought I might find.”

“You had a suspicion you’d find it?”

Curran shrugged. “I’m a cop, Lauren. I see scores of dead bodies. Most of them have gunshots, stab wounds, foamy mouths, something that tells me how they died. I came on the crime scene last night, your brother looked like the picture of perfect health. No reason for him to be dead. It kind of stood out as unusual.”

“Especially since Miami.”

“Right.”

“Have there ever been any witnesses?”

Curran motioned for the check and then frowned. “Well, in Dallas, some woman in a nightclub saw someone close to the victim right before it happened. She confirmed it was a man.”

“She saw him kill the guy?”

Curran smirked. “That’s the problem. According to the woman, the killer simply walked up and touched the man on his shoulder. After a few seconds, the person dropped dead.”

“You’re dismissing it.”

Curran smiled. “Well, come on. How silly does that sound? I’ve done a lot of research into Asian cultures and the closest thing I could dig up was a martial art technique called the death touch. But even that didn’t work that fast.”

“There are other traditions out there that might have something like that in them.”

“You know of any?”

Lauren shifted in her chair. “Actually, it sounds something like a reverse laying of hands.”

Curran shook his head. “Never heard of it.”

“Laying of hands is a traditional, albeit unusual method of healing.”

“You mean holistic?”

“Something like that. It’s widely accepted by the Catholic Church as a special occurrence. The healer places their hands on the afflicted and helps heal them using special energies.”

“Special energies?” Curran smiled.

Lauren pointed at him. “Don't look so surprised. A minute ago you were telling me about green brains, after all.”

“Touche.”

“Laying of hands has been acknowledged in the writings of the church for many years and while most consider it something of legend, there are reasonably accurate accounts of healers being able to cure in the name of God.”

“There’s a flip side — that reversal thing you spoke of?”

“I don't know.” She took a sip of water, thankful her stomach didn’t vomit it back up. “I could research it. See if there are any references to something like it anywhere. It sounds pretty odd, I know.”

“I don’t know if I need any help.”

“Sure sounds like you do.”

“You’re being stubborn again.”

“Determined.”

“Let me think about it.”

“Don’t think too long. There might be more bodies.”

“I hope not.” And she could see in his eyes that he really meant that.

Lauren smiled at him. She felt certain he’d come around. “How come you’re not with the Bureau anymore?”

“To be blunt, I was fired.”

“For not solving the cases?”

“That and an evil manager who had it in for me. I couldn't win to save my life. The Bureau canned me and I came north to Boston.”

“Why Boston?”

“At the time, I was dating a woman who had family up here. I figured it'd be nice to be closer to her.”

“Your relationship didn't work out?”

“It was one of those instances where you like the family more than the person you’re supposed to be in love with.”

I wouldn’t know, thought Lauren. “How did you get into the Boston Police Department?”

“My last friend at the Bureau put in a good word for me. That was five years back. Things are good, but it's not where I pictured myself when I was younger.”

“Let me guess: you wanted to head up the FBI.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“A boy's got to dream, I guess,” she said.

“You're telling me you don't have any dreams?”

“I never said that.”

“So…share on.”

She folded her hands. “All right. Thanks to my evil brother, I grew up pretty jaded. I hated men. I became the antithesis of feminine. I felt scarred, broken, unable to figure out what I was supposed to be doing with my life.” She leaned closer. “It was a lonely time for me. I traveled a lot. Hitchhiking here and there, skirting danger and even flirting with the same path my brother had chosen for himself.”

“What changed you?”

“God changed me.”

“What do you mean — you found him?”

“Kind of. He came to me in a dream one night. When I awoke, something inside of me felt changed forever. I can't really describe it. It was as if the sorrow I'd been carrying for all those years suddenly lifted. My vision cleared. I wouldn't turn to evil like my brother. I would turn away from it.”

“Become good.”

“More than that. I'd become a soldier in God's army.” She smiled and hoped he wouldn’t think she was some sort of weirdo. “Don't laugh. I know it sounds extremely cultish. But it's not at all.”

“I'm not saying anything.”

“Think about it, Steve. The world is full of evil. If it isn't people out actively committing evil acts, then there are millions of apathetic souls who will never stand up to evil, they'll never sacrifice themselves for the greater good. Their only concern is what's in it for them.”

“I agree.”

“I thought you would. We're similar in that respect, I think.” Lauren looked at the table of food. “I’m sorry, Steve, but I don’t think I can eat any of this after what we’ve been talking about.”

Curran nodded. “No sweat. I’ll get it to go.”

“I’m not good at leftovers.”

He grinned. “Fortunately, I am.” He waved the waiter over and the food disappeared. After a moment, he looked at her. “So, how do you intend to combat all this evil?”

“I asked myself that same question for a long time. Finally, six months ago, I found my answer.”

“Which was what?”

She smiled. “It's quite simple, really. I'm becoming a nun.”

Curran looked like his stomach had just dropped twenty stories. “Oops.”

She grinned. “I thought that might throw you for a loop.”

“Sorry, I had no idea.”

“Of course, you didn't.” She winked at him. “But then again, this wasn't actually a date…was it?”

Curran’s smile looked as natural as a five-leaf clover. “Uh…of course not. No way. I'm just gathering information about the case.”

She grinned some more. “Pay the bill, Steve. You're an awful liar.”

Chapter Four

Curran's phone rang as soon as he reached the office the next morning. He swallowed the gulp of orange juice and grabbed the receiver.

“Curran.”

“So? Was she any good?”

He grinned. “'Morning Kwon.”

“Man, don't ‘good morning’ me. I told you, I want details.”

“No details to give.”

“Liar.”

“I'm not.”

Kwon’s sigh came through the phone. “I don't believe this. I spend my time humping dead bodies all over town, doing extensive reports for you, busting my balls to make sure you’ve got what you need, and you can't even be bothered to spill a little dirt about what happened between you and that lovely lady. Thanks a lot.”

“You want details?” Curran grinned.

“Absolutely.”

“She's getting ready to become a nun.”

“So, you can be a cowboy. I've done the dress-up thing, man. It's kind of cool.”

“I mean it, Kwon. She's going to become a nun.” Curran didn’t feel good saying it, either. Last night had been the first almost date he’d had in a long time and it had felt really nice sitting across from a good-looking woman.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Well…”

“Yeah.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah. I’m kind of fond of her.”

“’Fond of her?’ Curran, anyone ever told you that you got some weird old fashioned ways about you?”

“Yeah, I heard that before.” He bit into the muffin and chewed, but somehow the muffin didn’t taste as good today. “I like old fashioned.”

“She have any thoughts on why her brother's brain turned green?”

“I mentioned it but we didn’t stay on that topic for very long.”

“What'd you talk about, then?”

“The case. Her life.”

“Anything interesting?”

Plenty, thought Curran. But he wouldn’t share that with Kwon just yet. Part of him was still amazed Lauren had given up as much as she had last night. “She's running some stuff down for me.”

There was a pause. “I knew it.”

“What?”

“You aren't done trying yet. I can hear it in your voice. You old Devil. You're going to corrupt that poor woman, aren't you?”

“I'm not going to corrupt anyone, Kwon.”

“You know what kind of hard time you'll do for that, Curran? The man upstairs will bust your ass big time for messing with one of his ladies.”

“And I suppose that foul mouth of yours will get you a pair of wings?”

“Hey, I'm not freaking a nun.”

“I'm not freaking a nun!” He glanced around, but fortunately no one seemed to be paying attention. He turned back to the phone. “Jesus, Kwon, lay off, would you?”

“Yeah, whatever. I'll be waiting for the full report when you do, you dog. Call me if you find out why this dude's brain turned green.”

Curran hung up the and hauled out the pile of old case reports. Photographs, files, maps and assorted evidence came out in a jumble.

So did the memories.

Years of busting his hump to make heads or tails of this serial killer. Years of trying his damnedest to figure out the connection. The pain, the late nights, the unyielding complexity. Everything all at once came pouring out of him.

And the frustration, the final frustration at being heaved out on his ass when things didn't pan out.

That took the cake, he thought.

He sighed, God I need a smoke. But he wasn’t allowing himself a cigarette every time he felt the craving. He had to wean himself off those things. He wasn’t going to smoke for at least — he checked the wall clock — another ninety minutes.

Instead, he took another swig of juice and then began sorting things into piles. Maybe a fresh look at it would jar something lose. Some small piece that would connect everything.

Curran sure hoped so.

But he secretly doubted it.

After all, how long had he spent searching through this material when he was back in the Bureau? And at what cost?

His mind jumped back to the image of his ex-wife. Back to when they both seemed so young and carefree. And so in love. Evenings back then were spent in pursuit of whatever sexual antics ruled the day. Nights of passion and of whispered words of devotion and tender caring.

And then the case arrived.

Suddenly, the bizarre nature of the deaths absorbed Curran like a black hole suckling the light out of every nearby living thing. The names of the victims, the dates, the backgrounds, the abject surprise etched — frozen — into their dead visages.

Everything.

Curran became the case. He lost interest in anything else.

He shook his head like a dog trying to shed water after playing in a lake. That was the past, he thought. Surely, I paid for my overzealous enthusiasm enough.

Now, what hadn't he looked at yet?

What was the clue he needed?

He glanced at Gary Fields' picture again. The grim mug radiated a calm defiance and a cold confidence Curran found unsettling. The picture of pure evil, he thought. He smirked; for the first time, it's a bad guy getting killed and not some innocent bystander.

He stopped.

Miami.

Dallas.

The names. The rap sheets.

My god, he thought, they’re all like Fields.

They’re all evil.

He dug into the piles and began yanking out the backgrounds of all the previous victims. Within minutes, he knew he’d found a connection. He almost hit himself for not finding it before. He’d heard that happened sometimes. You got too close to a case and couldn’t see the most obvious thing of all.

But it raised a question.

Was the killer just a simple vigilante? Was he out to right the wrongs of society by killing off its dregs?

Curran frowned. Was killing justified if the victims were all evil?

Not for a civilian. He felt pretty convinced about that.

But what about for him — an officer of the law?

He didn’t know.

He’d killed before.

Each time in self-defense. Each time he’d been exonerated. But that didn’t necessarily make it feel all right when he lay awake at night reliving the scenarios over and over again.

Especially when he woke up bathed in a pool of sweat sucking in lungfuls of oxygen as if he was suffocating.

He looked back down at the piles before them. It was all there. Each of the victims had all been bad seeds. The worst men and women in their respective cities.

And each and every one of them had died at the hands of the man Curran knew must now be lurking around Boston.

But how was Curran going to protect the evil people in this city?

He frowned. Cripes, did he even want to?

Instinctively, he reached for the phone. Before he realized it, he had pressed out the numbers and heard the ringing. When the soft voice on the other end of the phone spoke, Curran cleared his throat.

“I may need your help after all.”

Chapter Five

Lauren glanced up at the crucifix hanging on the wall opposite her in the room she sat in. Shelves sprang up around the room, each filled to capacity with thousands of books. Around her, men and women pored over thick books. Each of them a scholar of some sort devoted to the Church. Lauren saw a few other women that were preparing to enter a convent like her.

She sighed. Since receiving Curran’s call, she’d felt excited at first at the prospect of helping him with the case. Part of her wondered whether she was doing it to make peace with her brother’s death. Even though she’d hated him for most of her life, there was still something about him — about her last remaining family — being killed that angered her.

Another part of her thought she might have a small crush on the handsome detective. She frowned and pushed that thought out of her mind. Lauren’s romantic experiences could be counted on the fingers of one hand. And besides, she had important work to do for the Church. There was no time, she chided herself, for entertaining such silly notions of lustful dalliances.

The initial excitement at helping had also begun to wear off. Despite spending almost a full day in the divinity school’s library, Lauren had been unable to find anything that could shed some light on the mysterious deaths that Curran had occupied so much of his life with.

She shut the book and slid her chair back, its legs squawking against the polished wooden floor. She needed some fresh air to clear her head.

Outside, November winds blew hard around her, tossing the flaps of her overcoat about in the gray daylight. She shivered instinctively and closed her eyes as a blast of wind sent dirt flying at her face.

She walked across the campus with its rolling green lawns. Tucked away on the underside of Brighton, a few miles outside of Boston, the school’s buildings sheltered a select group of people who still wished to enter the service of God in an age of sexual abuse scandals and political infighting.

Even here, she thought, evil could reach in and disrupt the work of God.

At the administration building, she stopped. A lone beam of sunlight pierced the gray sky and broke over the carved statues of saints on either side of the building. She smiled once. And then climbed the steps toward the front door.

Inside, the quiet seemed almost overpowering. A door to her left beckoned and she wandered through it.

The old nun at the front desk looked up and smiled. “Can I help you?”

“Is Sister McDewey in?”

“Yes. Do you have an appointment?”

Lauren stopped. She didn’t. “No. But she was my advisor last year and I was hoping I could get her advice about something.”

The nun smiled and lifted the phone. “Let me just check, dear. I don’t think there’s any reason why she couldn’t spare a few minutes for you. Sit down if you like.”

Lauren took off her overcoat and sat on a long wooden bench running along one side of the office. She looked at the pictures of the Pope on one wall. Across from him, a beautiful painting depicting the Last Supper featured prominently. Otherwise, the contents of the office with its desks and stacks of paper and books and reports, looked like most other academic offices she’d been in throughout her life.

“Sister McDewey will see you, dear.”

Lauren looked up. “Really? Thanks so much for your help.”

“Think nothing of it. I know there’s plenty of decisions that need talking over with someone before you can make them right. You have yourself a good talk with her. She’s one sharp nun.”

Lauren smiled and walked toward the heavy brown oak door with the small brass nameplate on it. She knocked once and heard the invitation to enter come from the other side. She turned the doorknob and walked in.

Sister McDewey looked about fifty, but Lauren had heard she was actually much older. No one seemed to much about her except that she’d done missionary work all over the world for many years.

She rose as Lauren came in. “Ms. Fields. How nice to see you.”

“Sister.”

The elder nun pointed at a cushioned chair across from her desk. “Sit. Please. Make yourself comfortable.”

Lauren did and smiled. “Thanks for seeing me.”

“How can I help?”

“You gave me such great advice over the last few years when I decided to actually enter the service. I thought I might speak with you about a matter that’s come to my attention lately.”

“Even though I’m no longer your official advisor, I can certainly still counsel you on choices affecting your future, have no fear.”

“Well, this isn’t exactly an official type of decision. It’s more a matter of acquiring information.”

“Indeed, go on.”

Lauren shifted, unsure of how to begin. “My brother was murdered the other night.”

“Oh my heavens, I’m terribly sorry to hear that. Are you all right?”

Lauren shrugged. “We weren’t really on the best terms. Still, his death was a bit of a shock to me. He was the last family I had.”

“And you’re troubled by this naturally.”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. I’m most troubled by the way in which he died.”

“How did he die?’

Lauren hesitated. How was she going to phrase this? “There were no apparent causes for his death. He simply…died.”

“How peculiar. And the authorities? What have they told you?”

“That’s why I’m here actually. The lead detective on the case has seen this type of death before. When he worked for the FBI, he investigated several episodes of this throughout the entire country. He shared some information with me and I told him it sounded almost as though someone had performed some type of reverse laying of hands on the victims.”

“Laying of hands?”

“Yes, the old stories of those with the ability to heal by touch.”

“I’m well aware of the stories, Lauren.” Sister McDewey frowned. “Unfortunately, that’s all there is to them. They’re simply stories.”

“There’s nothing legitimate about them?” Lauren found that hard to believe.

Sister McDewey smiled. “Let me tell you something. As you might know, I worked a long time doing work overseas. In the service of the Church we are sometimes sent to the most inhospitable places on earth to do His bidding. Obviously we go to do the goodness that needs doing. I’ve seen an awful lot in my years abroad. And I’ve been to countless tiny villages where someone was reputed to have the gift of healing.”

“What happened?”

Sister McDewey shrugged. “What generally happens in cases like those: it turns out to be some sort of charlatan at work whose only motive is to gain some type of control over the local populace. Sometimes it’s for money, other times not. But never — not once — have I seen any real evidence of the ability.”

“But don’t you think it might be true?”

“Even if it was, this thing you’re speaking of — a reversal? It’s never even been documented. Not that I’m aware of.”

“I did research in the school’s library and couldn’t find anything. I thought I’d come to you and see if you knew where there might be additional information.”

“And how would I know about that?”

Lauren raised her eyebrows. She was about to skirt dangerous ground. “I’ve heard rumors of another library here in Boston. One that has certain types of information on arcane subjects.”

Sister McDewey laughed. “I see that rumor still lives, huh? Well, you can put it right out of your mind. There’s no such place around here. I’d certainly like to think I’d know about it if there was. Although I need hardly remind you that even if it did exist, you wouldn’t be granted access to it unless you were a fully ordained nun. You understand that such a place wouldn’t be open to the public.”

“So, it doesn’t exist.”

“No.”

Lauren stood. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

Sister McDewey smiled. “No waste at all, Lauren. I’m glad to see you again. How are your preparations coming for entering the service?”

“Well enough I suppose.” Lauren tried to smile. “I should be going. Thank you so much for your help.”

“Any time.”

Lauren turned and walked out. In the outer office, the older nun was nowhere to be seen. Lauren shrugged her coat on and walked out of the administration building, back into the November cold.

Was Sister McDewey lying about the secret library? Probably. Lauren had heard the rumors long enough to suspect that there was some measure of truth to there. It was simply a matter of finding out its location.

The worst part, she decided, was having to tell Steve that she hadn’t been able to find anything out. She felt guilty, like she’d lied about being able to help him. Why did I tell him I could find something out? Why did I do that?

She turned up a side walkway and headed toward Commonwealth Avenue where she could catch the Green Line train that would take her into Boston. Better to tell Steve face-to-face than by telephone.

I owe him that much at least, she thought.

“I hope you didn’t believe her.”

Lauren jumped. She turned. The old nun from the administration building stood in the recessed shadows of the nearby building. A thin trail of smoke encircled her head, coming from the cigarette in her mouth. Lauren thought the picture looked a bit silly. An old nun in a habit hanging out with a cigarette in her mouth.

“Don’t mind the cig, it’s the only vice I’m sure I’ve got.” The old nun smiled and dropped the cigarette, grinding it underfoot with her black shoe. She looked at Lauren. “Walk with me.”

She led Lauren down another side pathway, away from the buildings. The wind blew strong in the confined space. When they’d gone a few hundred feet, the old nun dropped onto a bench and smoothed her coat and leaned back.

Lauren sat next to her and waited.

“It’s not really a rumor.”

Lauren raised her eyebrows. How had she heard?

“Don’t seem so shocked. There’s an intercom system that I can use to listen in one what happens in every office there. Yes, I know I shouldn’t, but I’ve always been interested in keeping abreast of what goes on.”

“Okay.”

“She told you it was a rumor. It’s not.”

“The library?”

“Most rumors have some measure of truth to them, dear. The trick is figuring out which part is truth and which part is a load of hooey.” She smiled. “Sister McDewey is a fine woman, but it’s her duty to keep the young and inquisitive — “ She smiled at Lauren. “- that’s you, dear — focused on their studies.”

“So, in this case, which is the truth?”

“The truth is that there is indeed a building containing research material on the strange and bizarre. The Church has been engaged in missionary work for so many years that our people in the field have run into almost every known and unknown thing out there. It had to be catalogued somewhere.”

“In the library.”

“Well, that’s the false part of the rumor. It’s not a library. Not in the traditional sense of the word anyway.” The old nun’s eyes took on a faraway look and almost seemed to mist over. She sighed. “Are you familiar with the Back Bay?”

“Pretty well.”

“There are brownstones along Marlborough Street that the Church owns. In fact, there are several all in a row that we control. You wouldn’t find a record of the property holding anywhere since private citizens who do favors for the Church conceal it. But we own it.

“And this…material is kept there?”

“Yep.” The old nun frowned. “Is it true what you told Sister McDewey? About the death, I mean.”

“Yes.”

The old nun looked away. “Then you’ll need to go there.”

Lauren eyed her. “Sister, have you heard of this thing before?”

“Which thing?”

“The deaths. The mysterious deaths.”

The old nun lit a fresh cigarette and inhaled deeply. After a moment, she let the stream out in a sudden rush. “No.”

Lauren frowned. She was lying. But before she could press the issue, the old nun turned to her.

“It’s better that you explore this for yourself. There are reasons why. They’ll become obvious when you find what you need.”

“How do I get in to the library?”

“You simply walk in. If you know how to get there, it’s assumed you belong there.” The old nun smiled at her. “You’re a fair one at making people think you’re something you’re not, I can see that in you.”

Lauren nodded. “I suppose so.”

“Then use that confidence and you’ll be fine.” The old nun stood. “Good luck on your search.” She pressed a piece of paper in her hand. “The address is on that.”

Lauren put her hand in her pocket and stood. “Thank you.”

The old nun’s eyes seemed sad. “Don’t thank me. I fear that what you’re looking for maybe the last thing you wish to find.” She started to walk away.

“You know about this, don’t you?”

The old nun stopped. Lauren could still see the smoke encircling her from the new cigarette. Finally, she turned and walked back toward Lauren. She held out her hand.

Lauren held out her own. The old nun pressed something short and cold into Lauren’s palm. The her withered hand closed over Lauren’s. She looked up into her eyes.

“Just remember that evil cannot exist without good.”

She turned and hurried away before Lauren could call after her.

Lauren opened her hand and stared. There, against her warm skin, lay a small tarnished key, of the kind that might open a very old lock.

I wonder what this is for?

And part of her shuddered to think of what it might open.

Chapter Six

She found the library easily enough, exactly where the old nun had told her it would be. From the outside, it looked like any other brownstone on the tree-lined street, with its old-style iron fence and gate leading up to granite steps offset by twin columns. Ivy grew on the bricks, spreading its long dark green tendrils all over the masonry.

The front door was unlocked.

Lauren pushed in and at once found herself in a large hallway complete with a white marble floor and a vaulted ceiling painted in antique white that contrasted with the rich chestnut brown of the wooden walls. The entrance seemed to radiate a certain coolness about it. Almost as if God himself had laid a hand across this place.

A single door led out of the main hall. But right before the door, just off to its left, sat an old woman in regular clothes at a small oak desk. She had a book open in front of her and didn’t appear to take much interest in Lauren.

Should I say hello? Lauren frowned. Or would that mark her as an intruder?

She walked closer. The old woman turned the page of her book and kept reading. Lauren’s heart hammered in her chest.

Any minute now she’ll look up and demand to know who I am…

Lauren reached for the doorknob.

Turned it.

Heard the click and the door swung back on well-oiled hinges.

Lauren walked through.

She exhaled in a rush, relieved to be past the front door.

As soon as she stepped across the threshold, stacks of books seemed to sprout up everywhere. Books lined every wall. Doorways branched off of this room, each leading to a new room containing more books.

And what books they were! As she walked through the stacks she could make out hand-bound journals of priests and missionaries several hundred years old. Faded limited editions of varying translations of the bible. Historical accounts of the Church not ordinarily released to the public. And so much more.

As Lauren walked through the rooms, she saw only one other person: an elderly nun with her head bent deep into a thick book.

Lauren kept walking. She had no idea where to start.

She frowned. Better to wander around and see what I can discover on my own before I risk asking for help. Besides, she thought, the key the old nun gave me has to open something. Maybe it will be obvious.

It took her thirty minutes to make a pass at all the rooms. As she walked, her footsteps echoed off the floors. At any moment she expected to see people running for her, shouting about trespassing.

But no one came.

Gradually, her heartbeat calmed down and Lauren set about trying to find the locked room she knew she’d have to locate.

It was on the third time through each of the rooms that she saw the small door at the rear of one of them. It seemed to be disguised to look more like a painting than a door. Lauren wasn’t even sure it was one until she got close enough to run her hands along the edges and felt the lip of wood jutting out of it. Peering closer, she saw the lock.

Her heartbeat increased.

Was this the room?

The key felt hot in her hand and she realized she’d been clutching it within the folds of her palm since the old nun had pressed it there hours ago.

Now or never, she thought. She held the key up and then aimed it at the keyhole.

It stuttered into the lock, coughing for a blast of graphite dust to smooth its passage. Lauren turned the key and heard the heavy deadbolt slid back into its recess with a solid thunk.

She opened the door.

A long thin wooden table stood before her, polished to a dull sheen from years of sleeves and elbows resting on it. Around the table, more bookshelves. But the books in this room differed greatly from the rest of the library.

The books here had strange titles.

Some were in foreign languages.

And some didn’t seem very Church-like at all.

As she looked at the titles, she knew she’d found the repository of information she’d need. In this room, the Church apparently kept its documents related to Satanism, exorcism, old legends, witchcraft, supernatural studies, and all manner of accounts on dealing with the occult.

Lauren inhaled, tasting the stale musty air mixed with old leather and smiled. The room seemed to pull at her. It’s as if, she thought, God wants me to be here. Like he wants me to study these subjects.

So she could help Steve.

Detective Curran, she corrected herself.

And smiled in spite of it. Certainly he was the best looking man she'd seen in a long time. Not that he would have ever graced the pages of a fashion magazine, but the rugged features of his face and body made him seem carved out of wood. Tall and strong. And she'd even detected a hint of emotion lurking somewhere far beneath his ironclad exterior.

She laughed almost out loud at the thought of a dalliance with him before pledging herself to God forever. But she quickly abandoned that idea, knowing her path lay elsewhere.

Before her, books stretched out in either direction.

Where to start?

She chose the shelf closest and began scanning the old Latin titles. She’d studied a number of ancient languages in preparation for her Church service. But she still didn’t know what she was looking for.

For the next three hours she proceeded to pull each book off the shelf and scan through it as fast as she could. In that time she saw all manner of personal accounts of the occult. Enough to convince her that even though it was the 21st century, evil had always lurked on the fringes of society and would most likely continue to do so.

In her fourth hour, she found the book.

Written in the twelfth century by a monk named Gerhardt in the monastery at Schwarzwaldheim, a small town in Bavaria known for its close proximity to the Black Forest, the book catalogued every known creature and demon available to help the Devil in his work.

Even as Lauren scanned the pages, roughly translating in her mind what she read, she felt a shadow of fear pass over her. The names and spells within the pages told of incredible evil and untold power for the person who swore eternal allegiance to the Dark Lord.

They also warned of the unbearable agony inflicted upon those in his service.

A cold gust of air swept through the room.

Lauren shivered and looked up.

The room had no windows.

The light hairs along her forearms stood up straight.

Where had the wind come from?

She bent back over the book and read some more.

Another gust of cold wind swept over her, this time flipping the pages of the book in front of her. The old paper crinkled and crackled as sheets flew by under her nose.

The wind died.

And Lauren looked down.

The book now lay open at a chapter dealing with servants of the Devil.

Lauren looked up again.

There was no one in the room with her.

The wind had vanished.

Her heartbeat had drummed up again to a steady staccato rhythm. She tried to grin. Get a hold of yourself, Lauren.

She turned the pages, reading and translating. Toward the end of the chapter, she stopped and felt very cold. But this time she felt cold on the inside.

Soul Eaters.

She ran her finger down the page to the text and began reading…

Little is known of the Soul Eaters except that they have been

imbued with the ability to steal the very essence of man from

him with little more than a touch of the hands. All that makes

up the man himself, his memories, his thoughts, his very

emotions, is robbed from him. For what purpose the

Soul Eater exists is not yet known, but care must be taken

in dealing with them, for their power is truly directly

given from the Devil himself.

Lauren sat back and inhaled a long deep breath.

A Soul Eater.

What if…?

What if there were one actually living here in Boston? What if he had killed her brother? What if he was planning something right here in the city itself?

But what?

She frowned. Would Steve believe her? He didn't necessarily appear to be a very trusting soul himself. She'd never met many cops who were. Most of them stuck to hard facts only. It was understandable, being a prerequisite for the job. They couldn't put someone away on speculation or the supernatural.

And Steve himself had told her he was firmly rooted in facts and logic. He would be difficult to convince.

Still, she wondered.

After all, Steve had invested years of his own life trying to get to the bottom of the strange murders that plagued him. Perhaps he would be able to see the possibility.

Perhaps.

She traced her finger lower on the page reading again…

The Soul Eater himself is apt to be cunning in his own right.

By virtue of his job for the Devil, he must be careful to remain

hidden. If discovered, he would be unable to complete his

nefarious objectives, whatever they may be.

Something had been written in pencil in the margin of the book and then erased. Lauren peered closer, barely able to make out the letters and what they spelled out.

Graham Westerly — 1907

She frowned again and continued reading, but there was little else, except for several documented cases that happened during the third, seventh, eleventh, and nineteenth centuries. The nineteenth century instance was hand-written in German scrawl, which Lauren could not read. She knew it must have been details of the Soul Eater for that time.

She made a quick notation in the small red notebook she carried and then closed the book.

The air in the room suddenly changed.

It felt heavy.

Oppressive.

Lauren felt glued to her chair. Like she couldn’t get up.

She tried taking a deep breath. It did little good. The earlier joyful smell of must and leather cloyed at her, now almost suffocating her as she tried to breathe.

It felt like…something was in the room with her.

Lauren glanced up at the door. Was someone outside watching her?

The air grew cold again.

But a line of sweat broke out along her hairline.

And then she heard it.

A soft sound that snaked through the stacks, slowly circumventing the room as it came closer to her, caressing her ankles and slithering up her body past her shoulders until it kissed her ears.

Sooooooooooooooooon.

Lauren sat very still. She lifted her eyes toward the ceiling and saw a small crucifix on the wall. She closed her eyes and pleaded.

God, don't let anything happen to me here.

She kept her eyes shut and began praying softly. After a dozen Hail Mary's she felt better and opened here eyes, able to breathe again.

Whatever she felt had passed. She gathered up the book and placed it back on the shelf, pushing it back into its resting place with care.

Pushing the chair back to the table, she gathered her things and left the room. As soon as she opened the door, the air seemed lighter. She could breathe again.

She walked back through the rooms, but paused when she saw the same nun still bent deep in study.

“Excuse me, sister?”

The nun, older than Lauren, looked up. “Yes?”

Lauren smiled, almost embarrassed. “Just a few minutes ago…did someone else come through here?”

“Someone else?” The nun looked closer at Lauren. “No, I’m afraid not. It’s just us in here today, dear.”

“Okay.”

“Are you all right?”

“I…I'm not quite sure.” Lauren smiled. “I felt a little odd a minute ago.”

“Odd?”

“It was probably nothing. Sorry to disturb you.”

The nun smiled. “Now, don't you apologize. There are plenty of books in this library that can make you feel a little…suffocated. Some of the cardinals used to say the very knowledge of the world rests in these books. All the good, you know.”

And all the evil, thought Lauren. She tried to smile. “I heard that.”

“Have you entered the service yet?”

“Not yet, no. I’m preparing to, though.”

“How soon?”

“Probably next year.”

The old nun smiled. “It will be a glorious time for you. Don't worry about this old place. Just keep your studies up and make sure you've made your peace with God before you enter the Church.”

Lauren nodded. “Thank you. I'll do that.” She glanced around, suddenly wanting to call Steve. “I should go.”

The nun merely inclined her head and Lauren backed away, quickly turning the corner back toward the front of the library.

I need some fresh air, she thought.

Outside in the entranceway, she paused, leaning against one of the marble columns. It felt cool to the touch and she welcomed the temperature change. She realized her skin was hot and she felt her head.

Her hand came away wet with sweat.

What happened back there?

Briefly, she wondered if it was her period but she dismissed this. Ever since her brother had raped her, she'd stopped menstruating. The doctors all concluded that the psychological trauma of the event had jarred her system so much that she'd simply become barren.

Strangest thing, though, she thought. This does feel a lot like PMS.

Chapter Seven

Curran stirred some sugar into his coffee. “Say that again.”

Lauren’s eyes sparkled in the late afternoon sunlight that streamed through the windows of the coffee shop cum bookstore on Newbury Street, a spit away from the secret library. Around their small table, shelves packed with used and new paperbacks leaned in on them.

“A Soul Eater.”

Curran sighed and tried to ignore Lauren’s beauty and remind himself she was going to become a nun. He didn’t succeed. “Listen, I know you did a lot of work here.”

He could see the frown already creeping across her face. “But?”

Curran took a sip of his coffee. “I don’t know if I’m all the ready to accept a supernatural reason as being the cause of all these deaths. I mean, in all likelihood, it’s probably some nut case who’s just figured out a nifty trick of killing people off.”

“Steve, you asked for my help. I'm telling you what I found.”

“Yeah, but this…” He paused. “Do you really buy it?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“We’re living in the 21st century for one thing. A Soul Eater sounds more like it belongs in some sword and sorcery epic movie or something.” Curran could see his fellow detectives laughing their asses off when he tried to tell them there was a servant of the Devil at work in Boston.

Lauren looked down at her coffee. “I don’t have a problem accepting ideas based solely on faith.” She looked up. “Do you?”

Curran chewed his lip. “Yeah, I do.”

“Your lack of belief doesn’t mean this guy will go away, though. Does it?”

Not with my luck, thought Curran. “What did this book say it could do?”

“Eat a person's soul.”

“And there are recorded instances of this in Church history?”

“Yes. And the method of death fits with what you’ve described as happening with all these cases. The Soul Eater is somehow able to steal the life essence away from the people he touches.”

“But why?”

Lauren shrugged. “I don't know. What I read in the book didn’t make mention of the reasons for its existence.” She rummaged in her purse and brought out the red notebook. “But someone had penciled someone’s name into the margin. Even though it had been erased, I was able to make it out: ‘Graham Westerly, 1907.’”

“What do you think it means?”

“Maybe he was some sort of expert on Soul Eaters.”

“Great. I guess we’re a little late to interview him, huh?”

“He might have passed his information on to someone else in the Church. The old nun I told you about seemed to have a lot of information.”

“Can you find her again?” Curran didn’t think it would yield much, but he didn’t want to entirely discourage Lauren, either. He liked having her around.

“That shouldn’t be a problem.” She sipped her coffee. “Did you make any headway on the case today?”

“As a matter of fact, I hit on a connection. Finally.”

“What is it?”

“Evil.”

Lauren eyed him. “What?”

“They were all evil.”

“Who?”

“The victims of this…Soul Eater guy. Each one of them had rap sheets a mile long. All bad seeds, the bunch of ‘em. Each one was a certifiable-”

“Grade A Scum bag?”

Curran smiled. “Exactly.”

Lauren smiled. “How come you didn't figure this out before?”

“Honestly? Probably because we're so used to having murder victims that are good people, not bad. Certainly not in a serial murder case. Like I said, most of those cases came at me pretty quick all those years back. Plus, there’s the fact that I was so close to the case, so absorbed by it, that I probably couldn’t see the most obvious thing in front of me. Sometimes we look too hard for the solution when it’s staring us in the face.”

“Are you sure they were all evil?”

“Well, the cases I had at the Bureau all were. And your brother was a pretty rotten egg-” He winced. “Sorry.”

Lauren waved him off. “Forget about it. You're right.” Even so, Curran saw her eyes mist over slightly. They cleared quickly and Lauren looked at him again. “So, now what?”

“I need to see if there are other outstanding unsolved murder cases anywhere else in the country. Since I wasn't with the Bureau for close to five years, there's a good chance our boy has been busy elsewhere.”

“Will that be easy to track down?”

Curran nodded. “It might be. All I'll have to do is put out a request for information. We'll see what comes back. For all we know this guy could have been criss-crossing the country offing people and we weren’t even aware of it.”

“I think there's a pretty strong chance that's what been happening.”

She seemed strangely confident. “Oh? What makes you say that?”

She frowned. “I'm not really sure. I just have a feeling.”

Curran cocked an eyebrow. “A feeling?”

“Don’t make fun of me on this, Steve. I swear I’ll walk out that door if you do.”

Curran held up his right hand. “Promise.”

“Besides, there’s nothing weird about a feeling. Haven’t you ever had them before? Like a sense of premonition?”

“As much as I hate to admit it, I have.” He took a sip of his coffee and paused to wipe his mouth. “I’d graduated from Quantico and got shipped out to Montana. Lot of times, they do that with new agents. Get them acclimated at a less-busy field office. After a year or two there, they get bumped up to a busy office like LA or New York.”

“What happened in Montana?”

“One time, me and this other guy were working late. We’d had a rash of bank robberies across the state. Nothing too serious, but enough to get concerned about.” Curran took another sip. “So, the phone rings. Turns out some guy has a tip for us. It'd been happening a lot. A bank would get robbed, we'd ask for the public's help. Tips would come in and we'd go out following up on them. Got so we pretty much thought they were all dead-ends. Nothing ever panned out.

“But this one time, this one evening for some reason it felt different. I can’t describe it.”

“What did you do?”

“We drove out. This was in January. State was frozen. All sorts of howling wind. Chest-high snowdrifts. The kind of snow that comes at you sideways and manages to get itself down your collar, in your boots, everywhere. And it was cold. You know the kind of cold where your breath comes out in huff of steam and then freezes? This was worse.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been that cold,” said Lauren.

“Yeah, it’s not the greatest sensation. Anyway, I made sure I took a vest along, one for me and one for my partner. Outside the house where these guys were supposed to be holing up, I put the armor on, the feeling was getting a lot stronger then. I told my partner to put his on, too.”

“Did he?”

Curran saw the scene again in his mind. The snow. The howl of wind. The purr of the car engine. Even the heat streaming out of the vents. “Uh uh. Said we'd be back at the office in no time and he didn't want to waste time slapping a bulky vest on. Said he thought it would turn out to be another bad tip. I tried to insist but he was adamant.

“So we made our approach. I took the back and he said he'd flush the front. I worked my way around back, trudging through the snow, getting all wet and uncomfortable. Really sucked being out in that weather.” He took a sip of the coffee trying to push out the memory of the cold. “I could hear my partner out front knocking on the door, identifying himself.”

“Did they come out?”

“They shot him through the front door with a single shotgun blast.”

Lauren didn’t say anything. She just sat there with wide eyes.

“Took him right off his feet and tossed him back down the steps. He bled out pretty fast, having the front of his chest cavity ripped open like that.”

“Did you get the guys?”

Curran looked away. “Two of them. Yeah.”

“Did they stand trial?”

“They never got that far.”

Curran watched Lauren stop breathing. After a minute of staring at her, she exhaled slowly. She said nothing.

“So,” continued Curran. “To answer your question, yes, I have felt a sense of premonition before and that was it. I somehow knew there was going to be trouble that day. Luckily, I listened to it. That could have just as easily been me taking that shotgun blast in the chest.”

Lauren finished her coffee. “Steve…I…I felt something earlier today when I was researching the Soul Eater.”

“Felt something? Like what?”

“A presence in the library with me while I was reading.”

“You mean like a ghost?”

“Possibly. But I don't think so. It felt different than a ghost.”

Curran eyed her. “You've felt ghosts before?”

“Yes.”

I’m not going to touch that one, thought Curran. “Okay. Tell me about it.”

“The library seemed to close in on me. But at the same time there was a breeze. It made my hair stand on end. It flipped the pages of the book I was reading until the chapter about Soul Eaters came up. Later on, it got incredibly cold in the room but I started sweating. I suddenly felt like someone was there with me.”

“Could it have been another person in the library with you?”

“I thought of that, too, but it wasn't. The only other person there was an old nun. And she was far too busy studying to have been it. But Steve…something else was in there with me.”

“You think it was this Soul Eater guy?”

Lauren shook her head. “I doubt it. I don’t think his power extends to invisibility. But something, some kind of presence, was in that room.”

“And you think it’s related?”

“I think so. I heard something that sounded like a voice.”

Curran stopped drinking his coffee. “Did you say a voice?”

“Yes.”

“What did it say?”

Lauren looked away. “Don’t think me foolish. But it sounded like it said ‘soon.’”

Curran’s heart jumped. Could it be that she heard the same thing Curran heard in his dreams? He frowned. Ridiculous. They were just dreams. Weren’t they?

“Steve?”

He snapped back to reality. “Yeah?”

“You look concerned. Everything all right?”

A buzzing on his left hip made him jump. The cell phone. He exhaled and grabbed it. “Yeah?”

What he heard didn’t make him feel any better. He hung up and got to his feet.

Lauren stood. “Steve, what is it?”

“We’ll have to continue this some other time.”

“Why?”

“They just found another body. Looks like the Soul Eater — whatever we end up calling him — has struck again.”

Chapter Eight

They’d found the body on the top part of Prince Street in Jamaica Plain. Woods bordered the street on both sides a short throw from Jamaica Pond. The leafless trees leaned in on the police cruisers, their bent and broken branches threatening to scratch the tops of heads and cars alike.

By the time Curran arrived, Kwon and his meat wagon were already there. Kwon didn’t look happy.

“Another one,” he said by way of introduction.

Curran lit a cigarette, inhaled and held it for a few seconds before letting the smoke stream out of his mouth. “Who’s the lucky stiff?”

“Tell me that’s not supposed to be funny.”

“Okay.”

Kwon bent down and unzipped the body bag. “Name’s Jeremiah Simpson. Ring any bells?”

Curran frowned. “Wasn’t he the pedophile that judge went real easy on over in Cambridge? Got herself disbarred for it, too, I heard.”

“He was. You guys would know more about him than I would. But judging from how the uniforms are talking, this guy wasn’t the nicest dude on the planet.”

“Understatement,” said Curran. “If I recall the case right, Cambridge PD busted him for ten counts of sodomy on children, a handful of kiddie porn possession charges, and they suspected him in the deaths of at least four kids. They never had enough evidence to press those on him though.”

“Dude’s dressed like a woman,” said Kwon. “Even down to the bra, for crying out loud.”

Curran nodded. “That was his thing. He apparently thought that he projected a less threatening demeanor towards kids as a woman.”

“Piece of work,” said Kwon. “And he’s got the same marks as our friend from the other night.”

“Nothing.”

Kwon nodded. “Exactly.”

Curran glanced around. Through the trees he could see Jamaica Pond’s icy glacial waters. “But what’s he doing over here?”

Kwon shrugged. “Someone mentioned he’d been paroled recently. There’s a school up on Moss Hill. Maybe he was scouting it out.”

Curran frowned. Pedophiles deserved to die. On any other day, he would have been thrilled to see a piece of garbage like Simpson end up in Kwon’s body bag.

But now.

“He was looking for victims.”

Kwon nodded. Looks that way.”

Curran looked at the sky. The sun had already descended and the first tendrils of the night had bled across the sky. It would be dark in fifteen minutes. The cold November winds blew through the trees and rustled the yellow crime scene tape strung from light pole to light pole.

“He must have lived around here.”

Kwon glanced up from writing something on his clipboard. “What makes you say that?”

“He was found like this? Just out and all alone?”

“Yeah.”

“No car nearby,” said Curran. “We’re a bit isolated here. Maybe he was out for a walk. That’s when it happened.”

“No identification on him,” said Kwon.

“We can get his address from his parole officer.” Curran dug into the cigarette again keeping the tip bright red. Another damned death.

“I can do the PM right away if you want,” said Kwon.

“You don’t mind?”

“I’m still backlogged, but I know it means a lot to you.” He stood and placed his hand under Curran’s elbow. “What the hell is going on here, man?”

Curran tossed his cigarette and watched the tip burn out as it hit a puddle of brackish water. “Wish I knew.”

“No theories?”

“Lauren has one.”

“How about sharing?”

“She’s done some research. Found out there have been recorded instances of this activity in the history of the Roman Catholic Church.”

“Yeah?”

“Book she found says the culprit is something called a Soul Eater.”

Kwon stopped walking. “You aren’t freaking with me, are you Steve?”

“Wish I was, pal. That’s what she found out.”

“Great.” Kwon sighed.

“For a science geek, you’re taking the prospect of supernatural involvement pretty well.”

“First of all, I’m not a geek.” Kwon crossed his arms. “And secondly, I’m not devoid of interest in stuff like this.”

“You dig the occult?” Kwon never ceased to amaze Curran.

“Not like how you make it sound,” said Kwon. “But my upbringing in Korea was surrounded with myths and legends. Some of them weren’t all that far-fetched.”

“Yeah, but something like this living in the modern world?” Curran shook his head. “Seems like it’s way out there to me.”

“Even today, sometimes we have to go on faith rather than facts.”

“You’re starting to sound like Lauren.”

“Great minds,” said Kwon. “So this thing…what’s it doing this for?”

“We’re still trying to find out.”

Kwon sighed. “I hate it when things aren’t all neat and orderly.”

Curran tried to grin but it failed him again. “Welcome to my world.”

By the time ten o’clock rolled around that night, Curran’s eyes felt sticky and hot. Darkness covered the rest of the floor at police headquarters. And in the room where Curran sat, the only illumination came from the dull glow of his computer screen.

Eerie shadows drawn out to funhouse lengths stretched across the room. Outside, cars whizzed past on Columbus Avenue, their headlights streaking across the walls behind Curran.

Kwon hadn’t gotten to the post mortem on the transvestite pedophile yet. A relative of the mayor had died from an apparent stroke and Kwon had been tapped to make sure.

Curran meanwhile had spent the last few hours composing requests for information about strange deaths. He’d sent them to all the various bulletin boards used by the police network around the country.

He belched, and in the silence of the room, the croak seemed to echo off the walls. Remnants of the barbecued rib dinner he'd gotten from a take-out place around the corner at the foot of Mission Hill splayed across his workstation in the form of a plastic container, an empty can of orange soda and several piles of sauce-stained napkins.

Curran rubbed his eyes. He needed sleep.

I wonder what Lauren’s doing, he thought. He smiled halfway and then tried to shut the image of her from his mind.

His email alert dinged.

He clicked on the icon at the bottom of his screen. At the same time, he heard a series of tiny scrapes echo across the linoleum floor behind him. Curran smiled. Harry was back. The homicide detectives had nicknamed the gray field mouse some months before, feeding the little guy bits of candy bars and sandwiches.

As a way of saying thanks, Harry had doubled his size and become increasingly friendly. He’d appear at odd times of the day looking for more food. And the shock of white fur on his head always made him look like he had a Mohawk hair cut.

But Harry didn’t usually scrounge this late at night.

The mail window popped open. Curran saw the response had come in from the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department. He frowned. Another big city?

He watched as the words blossomed on to his screen.

In response to your query regarding a series of unsolved

murders, we had several cases two years ago that defied logical

explanation. At this time, they remain open. I will fax you the

files tomorrow. Heading home for some long overdue sleep.

Had a helluva day.

You and me both, sighed Curran.

He stretched back and shrugged his shoulders. Tiny pops sounded from his back. As the years had rolled by, the number of creaks and dings had increased.

Outside, another spell of cold drizzle splattered the windows. Curran watched the rivulets run down in odd patterns.

The room went silent.

A blast of cold air swept into the room.

Napkins and papers scattered on his desk. Curran nearly fell out of his chair, jumping as the sudden burst of energy broke the relative calm.

Curran looked into the gloom. His eyes saw little, unable to penetrate the deep shadows.

“Hello?”

Curran’s skin suddenly felt hot and clammy. Sweat broke out on his face.

He stood.

His right hand slid back to his right hip, feeling the quiet reassurance of his pistol.

He walked toward the office door.

Another blast of cold air pushed him toward the door.

Curran unsnapped his holster.

His hair felt on edge.

Then he caught a whiff of something.

“What th-”

It smelled like rotten garbage, like something had been in a state of decay for weeks. Curran had smelled death before, but this made his stomach churn.

His right foot kicked something.

He bent down.

Harry's lifeless body lay by the doorway. Curran frowned. The stench made his eyes water.

Hadn't he just heard Harry running around a few minutes earlier?

Now he was dead?

It didn't make any sense.

But Harry's dead body lay there as proof.

Curran pulled on a latex glove and prodded the corpse. It felt bloated. Harry's stomach gave when Curran pushed it in.

The stink swept over him again.

What the hell was going on?

“Sooooooooooooooooooon…”

Curran wheeled, ripping his gun out and aiming it at…

…nothing.

Only the shadows stared back at him.

A low rolling chuckle filled the air.

Curran spun again but found nothing to shoot.

Abruptly, the cold wind vanished.

And the quiet returned.

Curran slumped to the floor.

He’s really here, he thought.

The Soul Eater.

Curran grabbed an evidence bag and scooped Harry's body into it. Then he walked out of the office.

Working late didn't seem so appealing anymore.

Chapter Nine

“Can you do it?”

Kwon sighed. “I’m really starting to wonder about you, Steve. First you go bonkers over some chick who's going to be a nun. Now you bring me a dead mouse that smells like the bathroom after an all-you-can-eat burrito contest and you want me to do an autopsy on it.”

“Nice analogy.”

Kwon sighed. “You brought him home with you last night?”

“Your office was closed.”

“And now it’s almost twelve hours later.” Kwon frowned. “Did you at least put him the fridge?”

“Right next to a six-pack.” It was true. Curran had stored Harry’s limp body next to the bottles of the Sam Adams Boston Lager he liked so much.

Kwon took the bag. “You owe me big for this.”

“I’ll score you some Celtics tickets.” He looked around the office. “How long’s it going to take?”

Kwon shook his head. “Well, gee, I have to get my miniature drill, saw, and scalpel. Then I'll just rig up a freaking electron microscope so I can actually see the guy's insides.”

“How long, Kwon?”

“You see that corpse over there?”

Curran glanced at the closest gurney. “What about it?”

“That’s a human. Or it was. That’s what I get paid to cut open. Mice tend to fall outside my job description.” He sighed. “It’ll be a few hours.”

“You do the pedophile we tagged yesterday?”

Kwon pointed at the gurney again. “That’s him. I was all set to start until you brought me the shake-and-bake furry dude here.”

“Maybe I’ll stick around then,” said Curran.

“What — now you got a green brain fetish?” Kwon shook his head. “Just for your sake then, I’ll change the order of the PM so we can get to the brain first.”

“Is that allowed?”

“I’m the damned ME, Steve. I’ll cut him open proper after I show you his skull. I don’t think anyone will be upset if we aren’t all that proper with a scumbag chicken hawk like this.”

“Probably not.”

“Remember the drill?” Kwon drew back the sheet and took out the body block. Curran placed it under the pedophile’s head.

Kwon leaned in and began cutting with a scalpel behind the right ear.

“Shouldn’t I have my apron on for this?” asked Curran.

Kwon glanced up. “Why? This isn’t the bloody part. I’m saving you from the organ removal.”

“Kind of you.”

“Get some gloves though, we have to do the double yank thing now to expose the skull.”

Curran pulled on the latex gloves. “I’ll take the front again.”

Kwon nodded. “On three.”

On the count, Curran pulled hard and found the skin actually came off easier than it had on Lauren’s brother the other night.

Kwon cranked up the Stryker saw and began cutting around the top of the skull. He finished and set the machine down. “Okay, off with the top and we can confirm if this is another one of the Soul Eater’s victims.”

Curran frowned. It sounded so odd hearing Kwon use it matter-of-factly like that. “You going to put that down in the case file as cause of death?”

“Hell no. Business and personal beliefs don’t coincide very often in this world. I’ll keep my opinions to myself.”

“Pop it.”

Kwon tugged the top of the skull and it came off with the same squishy sound Curran heard before.

“Crap.”

Kwon nodded. “Green as an Irishman drinking beer on St. Patty’s day.”

Curran started to say something but stopped.

The green brain said enough.

He drove back to headquarters and got himself situated at his desk within twenty minutes. He had ten emails waiting for him as well as a pile of faxes about four inches thick on his desk.

“Popular guy today, Steve,” said one of his fellow detectives. “The fax machine’s got diarrhea for you today. Been beeping since this morning when you left.”

Curran fingered the piles of paper on his desk. “This everything?”

The detective nodded. “So far. Day ain't over yet, though.”

Curran took the next three hours and pored through the faxes, most of which were case files from the cop in California. There'd been eight murders in Los Angeles. Eight! Each one more mysterious than the last. In each case, the chief medical examiner ruled the cause of death as heart attack brought on by acute spike in adrenaline levels.

Like they'd been scared to death.

Curran took a look at the backgrounds of the victims. All of them, he concluded within five minutes, all of them were evil.

An arms dealer, a drug dealer, a lawyer who defended only the worst criminals, the leader of a girl gang in East Los Angeles, various leaders of organized crime syndicates, and a serial killer — all had died mysteriously.

The Soul Eater’s been busy, he thought. He frowned. Great, now he was thinking of this guy in supernatural terms.

He sighed and leaned back. What the hell had happened in here last night? He’d already fielded enough questions about Harry to make him feel awful. The detectives had grown attached to the little guy. So had Curran.

And now he was dead.

Curran flipped through the other reports on his desk. Other cases from around the country. After Curran left the FBI, the killer hadn’t stopped. But Los Angeles showed the most deaths and tightest concentration. The other cases seemed piecemeal — scattered around the country in single and sometimes double incidents.

Was the killer being careful?

Or was there some method to his madness?

To give the supernatural theory a go, it might make more sense that he had a mission of sorts. But if the killer was simply insane, then there’d be no figuring out the formula he used to pick his victims.

The only way they’d catch him would be to be there as he was killing.

Curran wasn’t so sure he wanted that.

In fact, a big part of him simply wanted this guy to disappear out of his jurisdiction so Curran could go back to busting gangbangers and frustrated divorcees who off’d their ex-spouses.

He wondered about Lauren again. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep her image out of his mind. He reached for the phone but stopped. She’d be out now, wouldn’t she?

He sighed.

His phone rang.

Curran heart jumped. Maybe it was Lauren. He grabbed the phone.

“Homicide. Curran.”

“Get your ass down here.”

“Jesus, Kwon, I only just left you a few hours ago.”

The phone went dead in his ear. Curran hung up, grabbed his coat and jumped into his car. He made it back down to Albany Street within ten minutes.

Kwon was waiting for him when he walked in.

“Hit the flashing lights did you?”

“You sounded so serious,” said Curran. “So, what's up?”

They walked through the swinging blue doors and into the autopsy room. Kwon gestured to a small table and handed Curran a set of latex gloves.

“Your little mouse there shouldn’t have croaked.”

Curran looked at him. “You finished already?”

“Yeah. And I know what you're thinking. I'm a physician. I don't know crap about animals. But I was going to be a vet before I switched. And if that's not good enough for you, I phoned up a buddy of mine who works for the vet school at Tufts out in Grafton. He drove up and took a look.”

“He still here?”

“No. Had to teach a class at one. But he confirmed my initial findings. The mouse — Harry you guys called him? He was in perfect health. No doubt helped by the large amount of handouts you clowns down at homicide must have fed him.”

“The guys loved the little scruff,” said Curran. “They were pretty bummed when they heard the news this morning.”

“Yeah, well, I don't know if you want to go spreading this around. Probably just better to let them think he was on his way out anyway.”

“Are you telling me what I think you are?”

Kwon motioned for Curran to look closer at Harry's still corpse. “See here?”

“The flap?”

Kwon nodded and handed Curran a small pair of tweezers. “Check it out.”

Curran bent and used the tweezers to snag the edge of the flap.

He lifted it.

His heart sank.

Kwon’s voice came close to his ear. “Want a magnifying glass?”

Curran shook his head. “No.”

He let the flap go and stood back up. “I take it mice brains aren’t supposed to be green, either?”

“Not according to my friend.”

“Nifty.”

“Whatever can do this,” said Kwon. “Or whoever — I'll tell you what: I’ve never seen anything like it. There's no medical precedent. As far as science is concerned, this crap-” he pointed at Harry. “-just does not happen.”

Curran nodded. “Which leaves us where?”

“Pretty obvious to me,” said Kwon. “Might be time to look a little closer at the supernatural theory.”

Just what he did not want to do. “You know where Harry died?”

“In your office, right?”

“Yeah.” Curran’s heart hammered in his chest. He needed a cigarette. “He died last night while I was working late.”

Kwon’s eyes opened wider. “Steve-“

“Yeah. That’s what I’m saying, pal. Harry here died while I was sitting only a few feet away.”

“That means-“

Curran nodded. His head hurt. Everything hurt. “The Soul Eater paid me a visit last night.”

Chapter Ten

“Has anyone ever told you that you smoke too many cigarettes?”

Lauren watched the expression on Curran’s face change from serious to wry. “Everyone I’ve ever known.”

“And yet you still smoke.”

Curran shrugged. “Maybe I’m not ready to imagine a world where man has no vices. Maybe I think everyone has something they do that’s not altogether wise. Some type of activity that they ought not to do, but do it anyway.”

“The good can’t exist without the bad, is that it?”

“Deja vu,” said Curran.

Lauren glanced around Newbury Street. Throngs of people shoved their way toward the subway station while panhandlers held their cups out hoping for a brief glimpse of salvation. Most of the people walking by ignored them.

She glanced back at Curran who ground out the butt of his cigarette. “What’s happened that you called me down here again?”

“You don’t enjoy coming here?” He gestured to the street. “This place doesn’t do it for you?”

“I don’t enjoy seeing the amount of misery the city inflicts upon others. I don’t know if I was made for city living.”

“Not like you grew up in the country.”

“No.” She watched another businessman shove past a beggar, the look of contempt clearly evident. “But a move there might be just what I need.”

Curran stayed quiet for a minute, the weight of indecision evident on his face. “I think this guy — this Soul Eater — paid me a visit last night.”

Lauren felt her chest heave. “What? Are you kidding?”

“Wish I was.”

Lauren listened as Curran told her the details. When he finished she simply stared at him.

“You named him Harry?”

“Wasn’t my choice,” he said. “Sometimes cops aren’t very imaginative.”

“And Dr. Kwon did an autopsy on it? And the brain was green as well? Just like my brother?”

“Yeah. And all those other people this Soul Eater guy has killed.”

“Does Kwon have any idea why it turns green?” There hadn’t been any mention of the green brains in anything she found at the library.

“Says there's nothing he's ever seen that explains it. Aside from the supernatural.”

Lauren could see the frown etched across Curran’s face. “Why is it so difficult for you to accept the idea that he might not be of this world?”

“You’re making him sound like he’s an alien.”

“Alien in the sense that he doesn’t belong here.”

Curran sighed. A stiff cold wind blew a newspaper past his feet. “You don’t think this guy is human even?”

“I’ve never known any humans that could rip the soul of a man right out of his body.”

“Neither have I. That doesn’t mean it can’t be done.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’m just not ready to accept the idea that he might be some kind of…I dunno…a demon.”

“Demons come in all shapes and sizes, Steve.” She tried to smile. “I’ve wrestled with quite a few of my own over the years.”

He chuckled. “And here I thought they’d all have scaly skin, horns, and smoke coming from their noses.”

“Sometimes it’s the ones who look the most like us that are the worst.”

Curran nodded. “Wish I could embrace the idea as easily as you seem to.”

“Something’s keeping you back.” She touched his arm and felt him jump a bit. “What is it?”

She watched him look up at the sky. Thick gray clouds streamed in from the west. There’d be more rain tonight. November’s cold soaking rain.

At last Curran sighed again and reached for a cigarette. “Happened when I was a kid.”

“What did?”

Curran’s lighter clicked a small blue flame into existence that he touched to the tip of a fresh butt. She watched him close his eyes and inhale. When he exhaled, his eyes opened but they were already far away.

“I had a friend. Named Joey. Joey and I, well we were about as close as two guys could be growing up. Played baseball, hung out, pitched cards, you name it, we did it. We got to the point where there wasn’t much need to do a lot of talking. We could just look and know what the other was up to. Pretty cool when you have a friend like that in your life.”

I wouldn’t know, thought Lauren. I’ve never had anyone like that in mine.

“Joey’s family, you know they were old school Italians straight over from Sicily. Very church-going. Every Sunday. Holidays. Feast of Saint Anthony’s — the whole nine yards. Joey, you know, he kind of poo-poo’d the whole thing being we were kids and all, but I knew he had a lot of respect for the Church.”

“Did your family go to Church as well?”

Curran shrugged. “We were German Protestants. I think the only time we used to go was midnight mass on Christmas. Otherwise, we were pretty relaxed about our religion.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” said Lauren.

“Well Joey and his family — to them it was wrong. To them, we weren’t being respectful to our faith. They used to parade the fact that Joey was an altar boy and try to make it seem like my family was less than perfect for not going every Sunday.”

Curran smirked. “My old man, it didn’t bother him a bit. He was like that — couldn’t give a damn what people thought of him. As long as he put in an honest day’s work and took home his pay to support his family — that was fine in his book.”

“Did you ever wish you’d gone to Church more often?”

“All the time. It would have made it easier visiting Joey, that’s for sure.”

He paused and sucked down the length of the cigarette. Lauren watched his eyes narrow. “What happened, Steve?”

“Joey changed.”

“What — like you two grew apart?”

Curran shook his head. “No. He changed. Instead of laughing and pal’ing around the way we used to, he got really…weird.”

“Weird?”

“I asked him about it, but he wouldn’t say anything. Just accused me of being paranoid. But I knew. I knew something was going on. We hadn’t been best friends for years for nothing. I could see something was bothering him. Bothering him bad.”

“Did you find out what it was?”

Curran’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. I found out.” He exhaled a long trail of smoke into the darkening air. “The next Sunday I went to church on my own. And I saw Joey do his thing at the altar. I watched the folks going up for communion, listened to the sermon by the old priest, and hung out. Joey didn’t know I was there. Why should he? I’d only ever gone once a year all those times before.

“When the service was over, I hung back. I hid in a pew and waited until everyone had left. When it was just the priest and the altar boys there.”

Lauren’s heartbeat increased. Oh God, she thought.

Curran nodded. “You know already what I’m going to tell you. Well, it’s true. That damned priest took Joey into his office and raped him. Bent him right over his damned desk and had his way. Then the priest saw me and started to come for me. I ran. I ran so freaking fast I thought my legs would fall off.”

Lauren could see the effort Curran was exerting trying to contain the mist in his eyes. She touched his arm.

“That bastard hurt my friend. My best friend.” He shook his head. “And when I confronted Joey about it and told him we had to tell someone, he said that he already had told his family.”

Lauren said nothing.

“They didn’t believe him. His mother beat him for telling lies about the priest. She said God would never have made a man of the cloth such a monster and that Joey must have been lying.”

Lauren remembered the fear she felt when her brother raped her. The dark nights. The cold scent of terror. “That poor boy.”

“He was never the same. And I never went to Church again. For years after that I used to lay awake at night wondering how God could permit such a hellish person to exist. How could he let someone pervert his teachings to the point where he could pray on innocent kids? I never understood it. I still don’t understand it. Not to this very damned day.”

A car horn blared a block away and Curran seemed to snap back to reality. “Cripes, it’s cold out here.”

“What happened to Joey?”

“The abuse took its toll. His family had him committed to a mental hospital and he died there a few years later. We’d moved in the meantime.”

“What about the priest?”

Curran looked away. “We should get going.”

Lauren put her hand on his arm again. “Steve-“

He turned and looked at her. “I told you before I’d killed only twice in my life.”

“Yes.”

“I lied.”

She looked into his eyes and saw the cold black hatred that had been stirred by the evil of one man. And she wondered how Curran had managed to contain it for so long.

He nodded. “Yeah. And that’s why I’m not a big fan of things involving the Church. Even today. Even with the abuse scandal being unraveled. The Archdiocese still has things it won’t turn over. And the courts put up with it. The tolerance for harboring pedophiles — serial rapists — nauseates me to no end. They ought to all be exterminated for what they did to those children.”

“That’s a pretty harsh sentence, Steve.”

“Well, I sure as hell don’t see God handing out any judgments.”

“Maybe that’s because he does it when we die.”

Curran nodded. “Yeah. Maybe. But you know what? I don’t think we should have to wait that long.”

She could see the torment he’d endured over seeing his friend brutalized. “You’ve got a lot of pain inside you.”

“I’m working through it.”

Lauren felt another cold wind wash over them. In the evening air, it seemed like the city could simply envelop them in the cold drizzle and wash everything away.

Some things definitely needed to be cleaned, she decided.

“We need to stop this thing, Steve.”

He blew another stream of smoke into the air. “I know it.”

“You understand we might need the help of the Church to do that?”

“Yeah. That’s what makes this such a bitch to bear.”

“Can you do it?”

Curran tossed his cigarette to the ground. “I don’t have much of a choice anymore, Lauren.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because this thing — this Soul Eater as you call him. The sonofabitch paid me a visit last night. And I don’t want that happening ever again.”

Chapter Eleven

Lauren caught the subway back out toward Brighton after leaving Curran. She wasn’t entirely sure what she hoped to discover going back to the school, but the old nun there had been the only help she’d gotten so far.

And there seemed to be something about her that led Lauren to believe she knew more than she let on about what they were going through.

Or I might just be imagining it, she thought. Throngs of students crammed the car, pushing their bodies into the other passengers. They passed through Kenmore Square and thankfully most of them got off to head to Boston University. Lauren found a seat and sat, staring out of the window.

The train roared up Commonwealth Avenue, its windows streaked now by the cold rain falling out of the black sky. Lauren fingered her cross and felt its cool metal soothe her.

If only it was that easy for Steve. She frowned. Certainly seeing a best friend raped and then almost getting the same treatment would make anyone hate the Church. After all, Lauren could sympathize to some degree. After her brother had raped her, she’d lain awake at night questioning in much the same way Steve had.

But her path had led her back to the Church, not away from it.

Not like Steve.

We’re so different, she thought. So different. And yet very similar.

She smiled at the thought of having him as a boyfriend. She quickly chastised herself for thinking such a foolish thing. He was a cop, after all. She was going to become a nun. There was no way it could work.

It shouldn’t work.

She shouldn’t desire him at all.

If only it was as easy as her mind told her it should be.

If only this whole thing hadn’t happened at all. She’d never have known someone like Steve existed. And each of them would have gone on with their lives blissfully unaware of the other.

God works in mysterious ways, she smiled.

Maybe she was supposed to know Steve. Maybe they figured into one another’s lives in way they couldn’t yet see.

She sighed and went back to looking out of the window. Maybe she just had a silly crush on him.

The rest of the trip passed without event. Lauren got off at the final stop, skirting the campus of Boston College and heading down a side street toward the seminary and academic buildings of the Archdiocese. Streetlights overhead cast long shadows that danced ahead of her on the sidewalk. The rain had stopped for the moment.

She turned into the grounds and headed for the administration building again. It was almost six o’clock but she knew a lot of the staff kept late hours. She hoped the old nun would be working still.

A cold wind kicked up some dead wet leaves and scattered them by her feet. Lauren looked around. She felt weird. Like someone was watching her.

She whirled, eyes scanning the deep dark but finding nothing.

You’re being silly now. After all, evil wouldn’t come here, would it? This was sacred ground, owned by the Church.

She reminded herself then that evil had breached the library with ease. Why should the school grounds keep it at bay?

At the admin building, she tugged on the door and it opened. She walked a bit faster toward the office.

The outer office where the old nun had sat the other day was empty. Lauren slumped against the wall and exhaled in a rush.

“Can I help you with something?”

Lauren whirled almost dropping her purse and jumping out of her skin at the same time.

Sister McDewey.

Lauren put her hand on her chest and felt her heart jumping around inside.

Sister McDewey frowned. “Did I startle you?”

“A bit.”

“I’m so sorry. I thought I heard someone and came to see.”

Lauren nodded. “It’s all right. I’m just a bit tired is all.”

“Your studies?”

Something like that, thought Lauren. “I was looking for the old nun who was here the other day.”

“You mean Sister Donovan?”

“I never got her name.”

Sister McDewey’s face creased with concern. “She’s not doing too well, I’m afraid.”

“How do you mean?”

“She took sick quite suddenly. The doctors aren’t sure she’ll make it much longer.”

“She’s in the hospital?”

“No. She said she wanted to be at her home. It’s close by. She’s got someone looking after her all the time now.”

Lauren frowned. “I wanted to thank her for helping me.”

“Oh?”

“She directed me to some valuable resources in the library that helped me with a project.”

Sister McDewey smiled. “Sister Donovan always had a great head on her. So many facts and figures rattling through there. I can’t tell you how many times she helped me. We’ll all miss her terribly.”

“She’s not dead yet.” Lauren hoped it didn’t come out sounding as bad as she thought it might have.

But Sister McDewey frowned. “Lauren, don’t be like that. The doctors were quite sure in their estimates.”

“I’d like to see her one last time.” Maybe she can give me some final words of advice.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

“What can it hurt? A simple thank-you to let her know how much she helped? It might do her some good.”

“Are you sure there’s not some other reason?”

Lauren smiled. “What other reason would I have for bothering a woman close to death?”

“I don’t know.” Sister McDewey considered her for a moment and then nodded. “Very well. Her address is just a few blocks away. Do you know the neighborhood?”

“Well enough.”

“Then here’s how you go…”

Outside again, Lauren felt the first drops of cold rain hit her face. She opened her umbrella and hurried along the slick sidewalks toward the street Sister McDewey had pointed her.

Had she fooled Sister McDewey? Lauren sighed. She guessed it didn’t really matter. There were some things she was prepared to do in the interest of the world that might not jibe with the Church’s official position. And she was prepared for those decisions.

Her heels clicked on the cement and echoed out into the growing darkness. Breezes roared off to her right side, making the huge linden trees wave and sway, their branches clawing the fabric of night.

The house was small. A simple ranch with a single floor, painted in white with black shutters. There was nothing amazing about it. It was as ordinary as any other home nearby.

Lauren rang the bell.

The door opened a moment later. A young nun peered out through the screen door.

“Yes?”

Lauren smiled. The rain had increased making her face wet. “I’d like to see Sister Donovan, please.”

“She can’t be disturbed now. She’s asleep. Come back tomorrow.”

Lauren pressed closer to the door. “Please. It’s very important I see her right now. I understand she may not have all that much time left.”

“She can’t be-“

A voice behind the young nun interrupted her. “Let her in Mary, it’s all right.”

The young nun frowned but unlatched the screen door. Lauren ducked inside as a huge peal of thunder broke out behind her and the sky pissed down with cold rain.

“Just in time, aren’t you?”

Lauren looked and saw Sister Donovan wrapped in a robe standing in the doorway of another room. The young nun rushed to her side.

“Sister, sit down.”

“It’s okay Mary. I’m all right. The good lord doesn’t want me checking out just yet. I’ve got a few more things to do here before that happens.” Her eyes twinkled and she winked at Lauren. “Now, would you be a dear and go fetch me a cup of tea? Just a little sugar to sweeten it if you would. I so hate the bitter taste of sugarless tea.”

Mary looked at Lauren. “You’ll watch her?”

Lauren nodded. “We’ll be fine.”

Mary left the room. Sister Donovan waved at Lauren. “Come into my room, dear.”

Lauren walked down the narrow hallway. On the green walls there were scores of framed pictures of a younger Sister Donovan in various countries around the world. Has she really been to all these places, thought Lauren.

“I did a lot of work overseas. I told you that, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Those pictures, they’re all I have left aside from the memories. I guess that’s the way it is when you do God’s work.”

Lauren ducked through the doorway into the bedroom. A large crucifix hung on the wall. She spotted an oxygen tank on the floor next to the bed with an air mask lying atop it.

Sister Donovan sat down in an easy chair and then reached for the air mask. She took a few deep breaths and then laid it back down.

“Funny how quick life can go on you. I saw you yesterday. Would you have thought I was close to dying?”

“Not at all.”

“Must have been that silly cigarette.” She laughed. “Ah well. We’ve all got to go sometime.”

“Sister-“

“You found the library all right?”

“Yes. No problems.”

“And you found what you were looking for inside the room?”

“The key you gave me opened the door, yes.”

“Not about the key, dear. About what you found inside the room.”

“Yes.”

She leaned back. “So, you know then.”

“About the Soul Eater.” Lauren felt a chill even as she said it.

Sister Donovan reached for the air mask. “Yes.” She inhaled deeply and coughed a bit. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in many years.”

“But you know all about it?”

Sister Donovan shrugged. “I only know some of it, hon. There was man who knew much more than any of us ever did.”

“Graham Westerly.”

Sister Donovan smiled. “So you know that, too.”

“His name was erased in the margin of the book.”

“Done so by those who didn’t want there to be a record of his work. It’s tough to explain I suppose, but there are those in the Church who think such things as demons and possessions and all the other tools of evil shouldn’t be discussed at all. Almost as if they think if they don’t talk about it, it will go away.”

She smiled. “But evil doesn’t go away simply because we don’t believe or acknowledge it. It simply continues to grow in power. And when we finally do acknowledge its existence, sometimes it’s too late to stop.”

Lauren leaned forward. “There have been two deaths in Boston so far that seem attributable to this Soul Eater.”

Sister Donovan nodded. “He’s been at work for many years now. Boston, I fear, is the last stop for him on his global travels.”

“He’s been around the world?”

“Oh yes. For many years. You see, the Soul Eater isn’t mortal. He’s a demon in the form of a man.”

A demon? Lauren shivered again. It was one thing to read about such things, but to actually know one was prowling Boston terrified her. “But for what purpose?”

Sister Donovan looked up as Mary reentered the room with a cup of tea. “Here you are, Sister.”

Sister Donovan smiled. “Thank you Mary. Now be a good soul and leave us for a bit so we might talk, all right?”

“Very well. Best to drink the tea before long, though. Otherwise it will be cold.”

“I will. Don’t you worry.”

Mary left and Sister Donovan set the cup down. “She looks after me wonderfully. She can’t be faulted for not wanting to let you in earlier.”

“Of course not.” Lauren tried to smile but desperately wanted to get back to discussing the Soul Eater.

“Graham Westerly was a man born to studying the occult. Fortunately for the rest of the world, he did so out of good rather than evil. He traveled extensively cataloging a veritable grimoire of evil. Demons, wraiths, poltergeists, he documented them all.”

“And the Soul Eater?”

“He found him, so to speak, as well.” She coughed again. “Apparently, throughout time, the Soul Eater has appeared in various accounts of the Church. In years bygone, he would appear in small hamlets and towns far removed from the big cities. For what reason, we never really knew. Not until Graham came along.”

“You sound like you knew him.”

Sister Donovan smiled. “I wasn’t always a nun dear. When I met Graham he was already forty years old. And I, well I was considerably younger. We fell in love. He took me along on some of his trips.”

“What happened?”

“He disappeared on a journey into the South American jungles in 1947. He’d picked up the trail shortly after World War 2 ended. Heard about something happening in Rio de Janeiro.” Sister Donovan’s eyes seemed wistful. “I was sick here so he left me behind. Reluctantly. I never saw him again.”

Lauren shivered as the room suddenly seemed to get colder.

Sister Donovan reached for the mug and took a sip of tea. “I became a nun soon after, thinking I could best continue his work that way. I never expected to run up against so much pressure to not delve into arcane subjects like Satanism.”

Lauren could imagine how it felt. “But you did anyway.”

“What I did was travel doing missionary work while covertly trying to continue Graham’s work. I did a lot, I suppose. Most of it is in the form of-”

She stopped.

“Sister Donovan?”

The old nun’s eyes went wide.

Gasped.

Grabbed her throat.

Lauren sprang from her chair. “Sister!”

Sister Donovan slumped out of the chair to the ground. Lauren yelled out. “Mary!”

But Mary didn’t appear. Lauren knelt over Sister Donovan’s body feeling for a pulse in her neck. She found a thready slow drum. Sister Donovan's eyes fluttered, already dilating.

“Too late…dear.”

“Hang on!” Lauren turned. “Mary!”

Sister Donovan’s hand reached for Lauren. “Remember…he lives best…through the evil…of…others…”

Sister Donovan’s hand fell away. Her eyes went black.

Lauren stood.

Felt a huge rush of cold air sweep into the room, scattering the books on the shelves. She screamed. Around her the blast of wind howled and roared.

Lauren clutched her cross and prayed, her voice ringing out above the windstorm.

“No!”

The wind died down.

And she heard the laughter.

Low.

Soft.

It vanished within a few seconds.

Lauren turned and hurried from the room.

And almost stumbled over the body of the young nun.

She knelt and looked at Mary’s face.

Dead.

Another blast of cold air screeched into the house.

Lauren stood and ran.

She didn’t look back.

Chapter Twelve

“I’m not lying, Steve.”

She searched his face for any sign that he didn’t believe her. But all she could see was the same stony expression he normally wore; his jaw set firm, his bushy eyebrows perfectly level. After two minutes of staring at her, he sighed.

“All right. But there’s really nothing I can do, is there?”

“I suppose not.” She glanced around the pizza joint on Commonwealth Avenue. It was the first place she’d run to after fleeing Sister Donovan’s house. Somehow, the divinity school campus didn’t seem safe anymore. Some place crowded seemed her best bet. Even at this late hour, Boston College students jammed into the small pizza shop while chomping through cheese and pepperoni pies.

Lauren had watched with quiet fascination as Curran had entered the shop and the throngs of students simply parted like the Red Sea for him to pass. Not that Curran looked like a huge linebacker, but he simply exuded that police presence that college students try to avoid. They gave Curran and Lauren plenty of room at their table.

Curran’s cell phone buzzed and he held it to his ear. Lauren watched him look at her and then away, then back at her again. Finally he mumbled something and hung up.

“What is it?”

He looked pained. “You sure about that address?”

“Of course.” She frowned. “Why?”

Curran took a sip of the soda he’d bought when he’d shown up a few minutes ago. “I had a few units go to the house. Check it out. You know — standard stuff, considering what you relayed to me.”

“And?”

He looked at her and sighed. “There are no bodies there, Lauren.”

A chill ran down her back. In her mind she could see them clear as day all over again. She could feel the cold creeping up her back. She could hear the howls, the screeches. She could hear Sister Donovan’s dying words.

“Steve-“

He held up his hand. “Don’t bother trying to explain it. It sounds so weird and bizarre it probably happened.”

“You believe me?”

Curran smirked. “I don’t know what the hell I’m believing lately. Things are happening here that don’t fit into my normal universe. But they’re happening anyway. Whether or not I choose to believe in them.”

Lauren grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Curran’s face creased and he pulled back.

I offended him, she thought. “What is it?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Steve-“

He looked away. “You think it was the Soul Eater again?”

She shook her head. “Forget that for a minute.”

“I don’t think we should.”

Lauren looked down. She shouldn’t have touched him. She wasn’t a nun yet but Steve sure had a way of treating her like she was the last virgin in the universe.

“I think it was.”

Curran looked around the shop. Some of the students who had been eyeing him quickly turned away. “I’m getting tired of this.”

She looked up. “The deaths?”

“The everything. I’ve chased this guy for years and he’s baited me every step of the way. He ruined my past and now he’s threatening my future. I’m not ready to give that up without a fight.”

“But we don’t know anything about him.”

“Don’t we?” Curran smiled then. Warmth spread over his face and Lauren saw the confidence come into his eyes. “We know one thing that this guy looks for: evil.”

“A lot of people are evil, Steve.”

“But suppose he’s looking for the most evil people to be found. What about that?”

“Sister Donovan’s dying words to me were: ‘he lives best through the evil of others.’”

Curran frowned. “What do you think that means?”

“Supposedly the Soul Eater is connected to the resurrection of Satan.”

“The Devil?” Curran smirked.

“Don’t joke, Steve. It could well be true.” She wasn’t sure how far his fledgling resurgence of faith could be pushed, but he had to know the truth. Or at least, the potential truth.

“Now we’re talking about Lucifer and forked tails and brimstone. Wonderful.”

“I don’t understand how you can finally admit that one aspect of this case might be real while still denying the other.”

“I’m a stubborn bastard.”

You can say that again. Lauren sighed. “Fine, believe what you want. But it fits with your theory, even if you don’t want to believe it.”

“How would he resurrect Satan?”

“I don’t know. Why would he only kill evil people?”

“I don’t know,” said Curran. “But that’s what he’s doing. Sure enough.”

“And what do you propose we do?”

“I’m a cop. I can pull these records. Run the computers and see who they spit out as the worst of the worst. We put surveillance on the likely candidates and see who turns up.”

“That could be an awful lot of possible victims. You’d have to get a lot of other detectives involved.”

“I don’t think so. In fact, I’m willing to bet it’s just a handful of potential targets.”

“And you can pull officers to track them?” She wanted to hear how he intended to explain the case to his coworkers.

“I figured we could both take one. Maybe I can enlist some help outside the department.”

“You want me to do surveillance work?” She smiled. “I’m not exactly qualified to do that.”

“It’s not that hard.”

“No?”

“Just don’t get caught doing it.”

She laughed. “Easy for you to say, you’ve got a gun.”

Curran nodded. “That brings me to my next point.” He looked away and then leaned closer, his voice coming down in volume. “You should be carrying a piece.”

“No way.” Lauren shook her head. “I’m going to become a woman of the cloth, for crying out loud. I can’t very well go around packing a pistol.”

“Lauren, you’ve run into…something a few times now.”

So he wasn’t ready to completely embrace it, yet. She could see his belief wavering. “Well, I didn’t get the impression that bullets would have made one lick of difference, either.”

“Maybe not at that time. But I’m willing to bet our Soul Eater has to take the form of a man to stalk his victims.”

“You’re in a gambling mood tonight.”

“I’m tired of losing to the house.” He smiled again. “You want that gun?”

“No.” Lauren stood up. “If I’m going to do this, it will be without a gun. I have other things to rely on.”

Curran frowned. “Like what — God?”

“Yes.”

Curran shrugged. “I sure as hell hope he’s there for you better than he ever was for me.”

“Don’t speak like that.”

“Why? So what if he hears me? He did fail me. He failed Joey, too.”

“Maybe it wasn’t his failure so much as that of other people.”

“Bullcrap excuses.” Curran stood. “If you want to put you faith in God, so be it. I prefer more earthly tools to help keep me safe.” He gestured to the door. “I’ll drive you home.”

Lauren shook her head. “I can get there myself.”

“What if the Soul Eater’s out there waiting for you?”

“I don’t think he is. After all, didn’t you just bet he was after the evil people?”

“Sisters Mary and Donovan didn’t sound like they were Hitler-wanna-be’s.”

“No.” Lauren sighed. “I don’t understand that either.”

“Sure you won’t take the ride?”

She looked at him. Part of her wanted to jump into his car and feel safe while he drove her home. But she knew that safety would only last as long as the car ride. Soon enough she’d be alone again. And if the Soul Eater wanted her, she’d have to confront him one way or another.

With or without Curran.

“I’m fine,” she said finally. Together they walked outside. Back into the cold night. She shivered instinctively. This time of year it felt as if the Soul Eater could reach out and touch everything around them.

Curran touched her on the shoulder and she jumped slightly. “Last chance for a ride.”

Lauren turned up the collar on her coat. “I’ll call you in the morning. Good night, Steve.”

“Good night.”

Lauren walked down Commonwealth Avenue. Cars zipped by. A subway car meandered down the tracks toward Cleveland Circle. Lauren hurried to the train stop to catch it.

A red light aided her and she hopped on the train. The car was mostly empty with just a few passengers scattered about. A young couple tucked into each other, cuddling for warmth at one end of the car. An elderly woman with five shopping bags scattered by her feet sat midway down the car. And a man about Curran’s age sat at the front of the car. He stared straight ahead.

Lauren sat down across from him.

Without thinking, Lauren reached for the small silver cross around her neck. Curran’s offer of a gun seemed done in good faith, but Lauren’s faith rested with God.

He’ll protect me, she thought. He already had tonight in the midst of death and destruction at Sister Donovan’s house.

But why had the Soul Eater killed two nuns? What purpose did it serve? And why hadn’t God been able to protect them?

Lauren sighed. Maybe Curran had a right to be mad at God. Lauren could have just as easily found the same reasons to be mad at God, but she chose not to. How come Steve couldn’t get over what had happened?

And would he ever get over it?

Her stop came faster than she thought it would. She got off across from the Russian pharmacy with its Cyrillic writing scrawled across the top of it and walked down Rosewood Street toward the apartment building.

Behind her, she heard the doors of the train swing shut with a hiss. More cars sped past her and she waited at the stoplight to cross.

“Cold night, huh?”

She jumped at the voice and turned. The man from the train. About the same age as Curran. He must have gotten off after her.

And she hadn’t noticed.

“Sure is.” She tried to smile and disengage him at the same time.

“You live nearby?”

“I’m visiting a friend, actually.” Now would be a good time for the light to change, she thought. “I’m already late as it is. If I don’t get there soon, he’ll probably send the police looking for me.”

He chuckled. “One of those, huh?”

“Yeah, he’s very protective.” Suddenly the gun didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

The man smiled and she noticed how white and straight his teeth seemed. “Well, we wouldn’t want him to get concerned.” He nodded. “We can cross now.”

Lauren started across the street. The man followed. At the other side he inclined his head.

“You have a good night, now.”

Lauren exhaled; relieved he was headed in the opposite direction. “You, too.”

The man turned and walked away. Lauren watched him for a few moments until he turned a corner and disappeared.

Lauren suddenly felt very tired and very alone.

Chapter Thirteen

Curran stared at the mass of records and files sprawled across his already messy desk. Before him were arrayed the worst that Boston could offer up in terms of real scum. The case histories that he’d spent the morning reading would jar even the most-rooted individual. Pedophilia, serial rapists, murderers, child abusers, racists, and more all lay on the desk.

Curran looked at the yellow notepad next to him. He’d listed each criminal and their present whereabouts. He went down the list and crossed off anyone in prison. It seemed unlikely that the Soul Eater would resort to trying to get to someone behind bars.

Four other criminals were out of state. Curran crossed them off as well. For some reason, this guy had chosen to hunt in Massachusetts. He must have somehow known that his prey would be here.

The list dwindled down to just five. Curran looked at their rap sheets and tried to put them order of which he considered the most evil. When he’d come up with the next likely candidate for execution by the Soul Eater, he sat back and sighed.

Was this just a shot in the dark? If he’d applied this same formula earlier, would he have been able to predict that Fields or Simpson would have been the next target?

He frowned and reached for his coffee. No one ever said it would be easy.

A glance at the clock told him Lauren would most likely be out researching some more. This case was getting stranger by the minute, given that Lauren had insisted there were two corpses in Brighton last night.

But there weren’t any bodies.

Had she imagined it? Was the case beginning to fry her brain and make her think things were happening that weren’t? Curran had seen it happen to hardened vets of the force. Sometimes the cases got inside your head and messed about with your wiring. Before you knew it, you’d swear you saw purple elephants dancing across the street.

Now I’m just making excuses.

He grinned to himself. If there was ever anyone who could call him on his own insecurities, it was himself.

The fact is, Steve boy, you just don’t want to admit that any of this has a supernatural bent to it. Missing bodies only enhances the fact that something otherworldly might be at work in your town.

Yeah.

That was it.

And the fact that you’ve got a thing for Lauren.

He sighed and downed the rest of his coffee. Okay, time to shut up the inner monologue. He called down to Kwon’s office. His friend answered on the third ring.

“You doing anything important tonight?”

“Yeah, I got me a hot date with a stewardess.”

“I think they’re called flight attendants now, pal.”

Kwon sniffed. “I don’t go in much for political correctness. Damned junk has ruined this country.”

“Anyway,” said Curran, “I said ‘important.’”

Kwon cleared his throat. “You ever date a stewardess?”

“No.”

“If you did, you’d know it was mighty important.”

Kwon’s libido would kill him one of these days, thought Curran. “Want to help me do some surveillance tonight instead?”

There was a pause. “Lemme get this straight: I can go out with an incredibly attractive Filipina or I can sit with you in a cramped cop car, in the cold, sipping water and hoping my bladder doesn’t burst. Maybe you spring for some cheap take-out grub and I get indigestion. That about right?”

“More or less.”

“You see an obvious choice here, Steve?”

“I could use some help.”

Kwon sighed. “You’re kidding me right?”

“Be good for you. Take your mind off of all that carnal sin in your life.”

“’Carnal si-Steve, you hear what just came out of your mouth? You’re starting to sound all…religious on me. That freaks me out.”

Curran looked at his watch. “You in or not?”

“You realize if I break this date, you owe me big.”

“I’m already indebted something fierce to you buddy.”

“Yeah.” Kwon sighed. “Well, what are friends for?”

“See you at five.”

Rain spattered the windshield as the little daylight that was left quickly got blotted out by the encroaching night. Curran flicked the wipers and saw clear glass for a few seconds before the water made everything look like it was melting again.

Kwon rubbed his hands. “Turn up the heat, man. It’s freezing in here.”

Curran flipped the heater switch and felt the sudden rush of hot air fill the front seat. “Thanks for coming along.”

“Yeah.” Kwon sighed. “I was going to get introduced to naked Twister tonight.” He looked at Curran. “You ever play that?”

“No.”

“Yeah. Me neither.” He sighed again. “Thanks a lot.”

“Consider this service to your country.”

“More like bailing your ass out of some serious lonely work.”

“That too.”

Kwon turned up the collar on his coat. “Who is this schmoe, anyway?”

“You’ve never heard of Randy Scoliari?”

Kwon looked at him. “Steve, I just cut stiffs open. I don’t much care about ‘em while they’re alive.”

“Scoliari runs with the Gambinelli boys. Big gun runners. Last we knew they were involved in trafficking weapons up from Alabama by way of Pennsylvania and up to Boston. They sell ‘em to school kids down near Chinatown for a few hundred apiece. They make damned good money on it, too.”

“And you think the Soul Eater’s gonna hit a gun runner? I thought you told me this demon guy was targeting serious scum. Scoliari doesn’t exactly sound like the most nefarious dude you could dig up.”

Curran nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. But I read a bit more into his jacket and found out that he was suspected in over thirty rape cases that never went to trial.”

“None of them?”

“Nope.”

“How’d the DA manage to blow thirty cases like that?”

“Wasn’t the DA. Someone got to the witnesses and plaintiffs.”

“You think it was Gambinelli?”

“Coulda been. Regardless, Scoliari is a nasty guy. I think there’s good odds on him getting targeted by this guy we’re looking for.”

Kwon looked at him and Curran saw a smile creep out on to his face. “You won’t admit it yet, will you?”

“Admit what?”

“That this might be supernatural. You’ve never even said Soul Eater while I’m around. You afraid if you say it, it’ll become more real for you?”

Curran shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Still a disbeliever. Even after the green brains.” Kwon cracked a thermos. “You want some?”

“What’s in it?”

“Irish coffee.”

Curran frowned. “I’m working here, Kwon.”

“Well, I’m not driving. And the least I can do is get comfy if I have to sit in this crappy car on a rainy night like this. Cripes, it’s pissing down ice out there now.”

“Keep your eyes open.”

“For the Soul Eater. Jeez, go ahead and say it already.”

Curran shook his head. He could say it around Lauren, but not Kwon. Did he believe it less around Kwon? No. He just didn’t want to piss Lauren off. He sighed. “Just keep your eyes peeled.”

Kwon took a long sip from the thermos. “Problem with you is you got too much logic rattling upstairs in that thick head of yours. That kind of crap will get you into trouble, my friend.”

“Too much logic? How can that be bad?”

“Be bad because that damned FBI put it all there. Crap, Curran, how many times have you solved a case going on sheer instinct? You know as well as I do a lot of the time logic and reason got nothing to do with this. Sometimes…it’s just a feeling.”

“We aren’t talking about feelings though, Kwon.”

“Nope. We aren’t. We’re talking about the supernatural.”

Curran flipped the wipers on again. “Tough. That’s what it is. Tough to take all this in one gulp. I haven’t exactly been the spiritual type for most of my life. Not since…” He trailed off.

“Yeah, I know.” Kwon watched him. “You told me about it. Once.”

Curran eyed him. “When?”

“Over about twelve beers. I know about Joey.”

Curran peered out the windshield again. Sleet bounced off the hood of the car. Beyond, he could see the expensive brownstone on Beacon Hill. Scoliari kept a couple of places in Boston, but according to a friend of Curran’s on the Organized Crime Taskforce, Scoliari was holed up here right now. “You really believe this stuff?”

“Got no reason not to.”

“I thought most Koreans were Buddhist.”

Kwon grunted. “Tell you something about that, Curran. You go to any war-torn country and you’ll find a whole lotta people embracing just about any religion that promises to save them.”

“War torn?”

“So, it was a few years ago. I’m talking about what that kind of strife does to parents who then raise kids. My folks grew up Buddhist, embraced Christianity during the war and then urged us to follow whatever our heart told us was right.”

“So, you’re Christian?”

“Nah. I don’t go in much for organized religion. I’m more of a free-wheeling entity.” He leaned back and started humming.

“But you believe Lauren.”

Kwon looked at him. “What — I gotta be Christian to accept the notion of good versus evil? To believe that there are some totally nasty freaks living in this world? Crap, man, I see that kind of crap every damned day. Religion’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Yeah, so I guess I oughta feel the same, huh?”

“Not necessarily. But you at least ought to keep an open mind.”

Curran tapped the steering wheel. “I’m not much on faith, am I?”

“Not much, no.” Kwon shook his head. “Puzzles the hell out of me what Lauren even sees in your ungrateful ass.”

Curran looked at him. “What?”

Kwon belched. “What?”

“What’d you just say?”

“About Lauren?”

“Yeah.”

“Nothing.”

“It was something.”

“I said I can’t figure why she’s obviously interested in you.”

“You really think that?”

“’Course. I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”

“But she’s becoming a nun.”

“Yeah,” said Kwon. “She sure is.”

“That’s not good.”

“Depends on who you’re referring to it being good for. It’s good for God. He’s getting one helluva great lady in his service. Kinda sucks for you, though, huh?”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a real poet with words, Kwon?”

“No. Don’t expect ‘em to either.”

“Good bet.”

“Don’t get off the subject, Steve. You’re just all confused about what to do with this lady, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Try definitely.” Kwon chuckled. “I tell ya, first time I laid eyes on you, I would’ve banked money betting you were el’ Mr. Suavo with the chicks. Turns out you’re just a big shy guy, huh?”

“I haven’t got any time for women.” He frowned, but Kwon was right. He did have a problem believing he could talk to women.

“When was the last time you got laid?”

Curran peered through the windshield. “That’s not really any of your business.”

“Crap — that long?” Kwon laughed some more. “Brother, no wonder you’re having such a hard time swallowing this Devil story. You haven’t had your mind properly expanded.”

“I need sex to believe in the Devil?”

“I didn’t say that. I said that constant sex keeps you open to new possibilities is all. You don’t have sex all that often, you start to shrivel up mentally.” He chuckled. “And physically.”

“I’m sure,” said Curran. “So, how often do you have sex?”

“Twice a day,” said Kwon.

Curran sniffed. “Yeah, right.”

“Twice a day whether I need it or not — even if I’m by myself,” said Kwon with a smile. “You oughta try it sometime. Works really well. All those endorphins. Hoo-yah.”

“I think I’m doing fine.”

“Oh yeah, you’re doing great,” said Kwon. “The only woman who’s shown you any kind of interest in all the years we’ve known each other has you flip-flopping over her profession. You’ve got some kind of galactic battle brewing between the powers of good and evil, possibly involving Satan himself, and you’re sitting in a crappy car on Beacon Hill — in the rain no less — talking to some slick gigolo Korean when you oughta be out doing anything related to what I just said.” He took a sip from his thermos. “You’re doing great. No doubt. No doubt.”

“I can’t believe we’re discussing this.”

“Hey, you dragged me out here. I was all happy with my former plans for this evening.”

“Yeah but we have to discuss this?”

“I don’t watch TV. Besides, this is the most relevant thing in both our lives right now. May as well hash it out if we can.”

I’m tired of discussing my non-existent love life, thought Curran. “So you’re convinced that there really is a Soul Eater?”

“Sure.”

“You say it so cavalier.”

“Nope. Just acknowledging what makes the most sense.” Kwon sighed. “Look, I’m a man of science. I deal in human bodies. I see the results of civilization and lifestyle on a very physical basis. You eat a lot of red meat and don’t exercise, I see pounds of undigested gunk in your intestinal tract. You smoke butts — ahem — and you end up with black lungs. You screw everyone you meet and don’t play it safe, you get — ”

“- what’s your point?”

“The point, super cop, is that the one thing I don’t see is how this world affects us on a spiritual level. See, I’ve got no scientific facts and figures that will help me figure out why someone who is otherwise super healthy will just drop dead. So, when I run up against something like that, I usually find I’m pretty open to explanations that I might not otherwise be.”

“And you think I should be, too?”

“Probably make your life a lot less stressful.”

Curran listened to the rain hitting the roof of the car. “It’s not that easy for me.”

“You know what I think?”

“Do I want to?”

“Probably not. I think you’re just scared to start believing again. That nasty-ass priest freaked your belief system up real good. You’ve never wanted to believe in a God since that day because you couldn’t fathom how someone supposedly so super-powerful would ever let an evil man do that kind of stuff.”

Curran stared at Kwon. Kwon eyed him back.

Curran chewed his lip. “Mind if I smoke?”

“I absolutely mind. Don’t kill me with your passive suicidal tendencies.”

“You’re drinking.”

Kwon raised one eyebrow. “There’s no evidence that liquor burps will kill you. Leave the butts where they are.”

Curran cracked the window. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Self-revelation doesn’t work that way. Despite what Oprah says.”

Curran glanced at him and grinned. “Thanks for hanging out tonight.”

“Forget it. Next time I’ll just unplug my phone so you can’t call.”

Curran’s phone rang. He picked it up. “Yeah?”

“Steve?”

Lauren. Curran smiled. “Hey.”

“Where are you?”

“Beacon Hill. In the cold rain. Kwon’s with me.”

“Can you come pick me up?”

“Where are you?”

“Marlborough Street.”

Curran frowned. Something about her voice. Anger? No. Fear. “You okay?”

“Steve.” She paused. “I think someone’s following me.”

Chapter Fourteen

Lauren marveled at the way Marlborough Street could go from looking like a picturesque and homey slice of upscale urban life to a shadowy enclave of hidden secrets and deeper fears. The dogwood trees that blossomed white in the Spring groaned under the gusts of cold wind whipping through the street. Cold rain and sleet sprayed across her face even though she waited under the entryway of the secret library. The closest streetlight put out a pitiful amount of illumination that barely penetrated the ravenous shadows lingering on the yellowed fringes.

Please hurry, Steve, she thought.

She wasn’t sure when she’d become aware of him. She wasn’t sure when he’d started following her.

But she knew he was there.

Right now.

Close.

She could feel him lurking. A presence. Out of sight, but still nearby. Waiting.

But for what?

Was it the Soul Eater? Or just someone who had some other unnatural interest in her? She supposed she was attractive enough to warrant a stalker. But it had never happened before. And things hadn’t gotten strange like this until she’d gotten mixed up with Steve.

And his case.

The bushes closest to the stairs shifted. She jumped. A lone gray striped Tabby cat, its fur matted down wet and cold slunk along the edge of the building looking for a place to lay low for the night.

Lauren exhaled.

She knew the trip from Beacon Hill to her location shouldn’t take long. But every second seemed to crawl. Every minute took an hour. Every breath a lifetime of worry.

Behind her, the doors to the library were locked up tight for the night. The lone staff member had already gone home.

Lauren stood on the front stoop.

Alone.

Did he know that? Did her stalker know she waited by herself? Was he watching her right now, smiling to himself at her obvious discomfort and fear? Maybe he could smell it bleeding off her in waves the way sharks do when they scent their prey from miles away.

Lauren imagined the vibrations emanating from her body in ripples that fed out into the night. She could picture the predators who knew how to tune into those ripples. She could see them hungering for her. Salivating. Reaching for her…

Another cold wind snapped across the front of the building. A rustle in the wet leaves to her right sounded like a footstep. And then another sounded even closer.

Lauren drew herself into the shadow of the column closest to her. She wondered if its darkness would shield her from view.

Steve, hurry!

The wind rose and the dogwoods moaned, bending and weaving like eerie wooden specters. Lauren shivered and shrunk into the depths of her overcoat. She gripped her house keys in her right hand, trying to remember the self-defense techniques she’d learned in that course from years back.

A clap of thunder boomed. She jumped again.

A flash of lightning lit up the whole street.

And on the edge of her vision, she saw him. The details came at her fast. Fragmented by the brevity of the illumination.

A man.

Black overcoat. A cape? A mustache.

And…a smile?

From the subway the other night!

The darkness swallowed him up again.

And Lauren heard his footsteps. Clear this time. She felt sure he was coming for her now. Felt sure he knew she was alone.

Vulnerable.

Twin blazes of white light cut down the street at speed. She heard the car’s engine gunning, heard the brakes squeal as the driver slammed his foot down. A blue strobe light rebounded off the homes nearby.

Steve!

Dr. Kwon came out of the car and Curran came out of the other side. He rushed over to her and she fell into his arms. And breathed in the security of his body warmth, felt his arms wrap around her.

“Where is he?”

She looked up and saw a different man. Gone was the steely-eyed detective she’d met days ago. In his place she saw the ferocity and determination of a man who hunted.

She pointed. “Over there.”

Curran looked at Dr. Kwon. “Look after her.”

“You got it.”

A flashlight and a pistol materialized in Steve’s hands. He edged across the street, the heavy beam of the flashlight arcing through the darkness. The barrel of his gun moved where the beam did. Tracking. Ready to fire.

She felt Kwon’s arm come around her shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. Steve will bag him no sweat.”

“You’re sure?”

Kwon chuckled. “Seen him work a few times. He knows what he’s doing, that’s no lie.”

They watched him cross the street. He moved slowly, always panning left to right. He bent down once and then stood back up. He checked further down the street.

But after five minutes, Curran came back, pistol and flashlight lowered but still ready. “No one there.”

“I saw him. He was waiting for me.” She looked at him. “Steve, you’ve got to believe me.”

He nodded. “I do.” He gestured to Kwon. “Let’s get in the car.”

Kwon hopped in the back seat while Lauren took the front passenger’s side. Curran got in the car and locked the doors. He turned and faced Lauren.

“When did you notice him?”

“I don’t know really. It was like one minute I was perfectly fine and the next I knew he was out there. Like I could feel the weight of his stare. And I just knew.”

Curran nodded slowly. “What did he look like?”

“When the lightning flashed I only saw him for a moment. A mustache. Black overcoat. I thought it was a cape at first, but I think it was just a flowing coat of some sort.”

“Was he white, Asian, black — what?”

“He looked white, but not pale. Swarthy kind of. Almost olive skinned if that makes sense.”

“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

She paused. Would she? The light had been on and off again so fast that she wasn’t sure. “I don’t know. But I think he was on the subway with me last night.”

“Last night?”

“After you left. On the way home.” She glanced back at Kwon who was already shooting Curran a dirty look. “I insisted on taking myself home, Dr. Kwon.”

Kwon’s gaze softened and he leaned over the seat. “You sure there was someone out there, Curran?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“But you didn’t find anyone.”

“No. I didn’t. But I found this.” He held up his right hand and Lauren saw the circular object.

“What’s that?”

Curran handed it to her. She turned it over in her hand and examined it under the dim glow of the car’s interior light. “Some kind of button?”

“What I’d guess,” said Curran. “But it’s old. Very old.”

“It looks like it’s made out of…bone?”

“My guess, yeah.” Curran took it from her and handed it over to Kwon. “Ever seen anything like this before, pal?”

Lauren heard Kwon clear his throat. “Looks like it’s definitely bone. Hard to tell from what though.”

“Could it be human?”

“I can’t tell without running it through the lab. But yeah, it could be, I suppose.”

“Could you tell how old it is?”

“Sure, we could carbon date it. Take a little time, though.”

Lauren looked at him. “You really think it’s human bone?”

Curran shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You sure this came from our guy?” asked Kwon.

Curran pointed through the rain-slicked windshield. “I found it over there in a recessed portion of the brownstone’s wall.”

“Could have been dropped by anyone, though,” said Kwon.

“It wasn’t wet yet,” said Curran quietly. “Which means it must have just dropped onto the ground. Presumably when whoever was over there heard us roll up.”

Lauren shivered. “Can you turn the heat up, Steve?”

“Sure.” He flicked the fan selector up and she felt a rush of hot air flood the car. It felt good on her skin. But it did little to warm her insides.

“I’m glad you got here when you did.”

Curran nodded. “Me, too.”

“Any later,” said Kwon, “and it might not have been good.”

Curran sniffed. “I’m sure that cheered up Lauren plenty.”

She tried to laugh but it died before it came out. “He’s right, though. I hate to think of what would have happened.”

Curran slid the car into gear. “Okay, first things first: we drop Kwon off at home and then I drop you off at home. How’s that sound?”

“It would sound better if I didn’t think I had someone out there stalking me.”Curran smiled. “I think he’s long gone now.”

“Steve, what if it was…him?”

Kwon’s head popped over the seat. “The Soul Eater?”

Lauren looked at Curran. Curran looked back and grinned. “It’s okay. I told him about it.”

Lauren steeled herself for Kwon’s insinuations that she might be crazy for thinking such things about the supernatural. Instead he simply cleared his throat.

“Yeah, Curran told me all about it. But don’t worry. I’m much more of a believer than he is.”

“You are?”

“Uh huh.”

“But I thought you science guys were all — “

“Science? Yeah, we are. But when I run up against something that defies my facts and logic, I don’t dismiss the unorthodox. Which is pretty much what I think this thing might be.”

“If it was him,” said Curran, “why’s he bothering with you? You aren’t even remotely evil.”

“No,” said Lauren. “I’m not.”

“And he supposedly only kills evil people?” asked Kwon.

“Supposedly,” said Curran. “Although Lauren says something killed two nuns last night in Brighton.”

“I didn’t see the bodies,” said Kwon. “You holding out on me?”

“No bodies to be seen,” said Curran. “We didn’t find any.”

Kwon whistled. “Freaky.”

“They were there,” said Lauren quietly.

“Relax,” said Curran. “I trust you on that, too.”

“You’re awfully trusting all of a sudden.”

Curran laughed. “Yeah, well good ol’ Dr. Kwon back there has a way of making me see the error of my mistrustful ways.”

Lauren turned and smiled at Kwon. “Thank you.”

He bowed. “Think nothing of it.” He tapped Curran on the shoulder. “Drop me at Copley. I’ll grab the Green Line to my place.”

“It’s cold out, man. You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. I doubt that guy’s able to keep up with a car anyway, so I’m not concerned about being followed.”

“You call me tomorrow with a lab workup on that button, okay?”

“Yeah.”

Curran drew the car to a halt outside of the Boston Public Library in Copley Square. Rain sloshed down against the gray masonry walls. Kwon tapped them both on the shoulder. “Stay cool.”

“Stay dry,” said Curran.

Kwon hopped out and disappeared in the rush of rain. Curran slid the car back into drive and caught Beacon Street out toward Allston.

Lauren watched his windshield wipers flick away rivers of water. The yellow, red, and blue neon lights of the city looked warped and twisted viewed through the rain as they sped past Kenmore Square. She could hear the tires slosh through puddles.

“You okay?”

She looked at him. “I’m scared.”

“I would be, too.”

“What’s going on, Steve?”

“I don’t know.”

They sped up Commonwealth Avenue. The Burger King zipped past. Boston University dormitories and academic buildings flew by them as well. But even though it felt like they were speeding and leaving Marlborough Street far behind, Lauren couldn’t shake the feeling that her stalker was still with her.

That he knew how to get at her.

Any time he wanted to.

“Steve-“

“-You sure you want to go home?”

They both laughed. Curran smiled. “Sorry. It’s just that I thought you might be worried about this guy and maybe sleeping alone tonight isn’t the best ting for you.”

She eyed him. “And what would you suggest?”

Even in the darkness, she thought she could see his skin color change. So, the tough guy isn’t all that tough after all. She’d made him blush.

He stammered out an explanation. “What I meant was, that, you know, if you had a friend or something you could maybe bunk with. That might be better.”

“Uh huh.”

He risked a look at her. She almost laughed. “It’s okay, Steve. I appreciate the concern. You can drive me to my friend’s house if you don’t mind.”

“You want to call her?” He handed her his cell phone.

“Him, actually,” said Lauren. She took the cell phone. “Thanks.”

She thought she saw his color change again. She smiled and dialed the number. It rang three times before the voice picked up. “Hi, James. It’s me.” She spoke another minute all the while aware of Steve watching her out of the corner of his eye.

She hung up and handed the phone back to him. “Thanks. You can head down Waldeck Street and take a right at North Beacon.”

Curran jaw tightened. She knew what he was thinking. And she almost laughed out loud in spite of herself.

She directed him now. “A few more up on the right. There it is. Stop here.”

He pulled the car up to the curb and parked it. He sat there staring straight ahead. “Okay. Well. Good night.”

She looked at him. “Steve.”

He turned slowly. “Yeah?”

“Thank you for tonight.”

“Forget it.”

She touched his arm. “I’ll call you in the morning, all right?”

“Yeah.”

It was touching, his jealousy. She could see him trying hard to keep it all in check. She grasped the door handle. “Did you want to come up and meet my friend?”

“No.”

“All right, I’ll just tell Father Jim you weren’t feeling like it.”

He melted. “What?”

“My friend. Father Jim. This is where he lives.” She pointed through the window. “See? The house is attached to his church.” She looked back at Steve and saw he was smiling.

“Oh.”

She smiled at him. “Good night, Steve.”

Chapter Fifteen

Outside the bedroom window, Lauren could hear the rain and wind making the night their own. Trees closest to the window scratched at the glass like skeletal fingers trying to claw their way out of the ground.

She shivered once under the heavy weight of the down comforter and moved her hands south, finding warmth by her abdomen. She let them rest there, feeling the heat radiate out of her skin.

Rain spattered against the roof overhead and she wanted so badly to let the unsteady rhythm of it lull her into a deep sleep.

But sleep would not come.

In her mind, she could still see the image of the man standing in the rain.

Waiting for her.

Coming for her.

Was it the Soul Eater? Was he really after her as well? Would he kill her like he had the others?

She shivered again and shifted, trying to warm herself more.

Thank God, Steve had shown up when he had. She hated to think what would have happened if he’d been even just a few minutes later. The Soul Eater would have wrapped his hands around her neck and then lifted her essence right out of her. She would have died on the lonely cold stone step — another casualty in the battle between good and evil. A battle so few even knew existed.

But Steve…

She smiled, recalling how upset he’d seemed at the thought of her having a boyfriend of some type. And then the flood of relief that seemed to wash over him when he realized he’d been mistaken. Lauren found it altogether charming and innocent. He’d seemed as crestfallen as a ten-year old with his first crush.

There was a lot to admire about Steve Curran, she decided. At once a hardcore and devoted detective, he had an inner softness that he desperately tried to keep hidden. She kept seeing it in flashes, never for more than a second or so. But she knew it existed.

He could be absolutely stone, though. She’d seen enough evidence of that tonight when he’d come out of the car. She’d never seen him look so…primed. There was no doubt in her mind that he could kill if he needed to.

That he would kill.

She couldn’t blame him. After all, tracking the Soul Eater for as long as he had without even really knowing what it was, or why it did what it did would have driven most other men insane by now. But Steve just kept on coming at it like another case that needed solving. His determination and naivete over the entire affair made him even more appealing.

When was the last time you felt this way about a man, she asked herself.

The answer came fast and without blinking.

Never.

Oh sure she’d had boyfriends before. But they’d never lasted beyond a week or two. She’d had enough sex to know her way around a bedroom. But there were parts of her that had never really succumbed to the fullness of making love.

How could she? After what her brother had done to her?

That was the real reason why no man ever stuck around long enough. It was like they could sense there was something there. Some kind of emotional baggage that would inhibit her. And so far, no one had shown any signs they’d be willing to tackle the job of removing it.

Until Steve.

He knew about her past. He knew about the hell she’d endured.

And he seemed quite willing to try despite it. If only he would let himself make the move. And if he thought I’d let him, she thought with a small smile.

She could tell he had a hang-up about her wanting to become a nun. It probably seemed weird to him, to be romantically attracted to a woman about to enter the Church.

I wonder….

In truth, Lauren wasn’t entirely uncomfortable with the notion of falling for a man like him.

Images of the two of them danced in her head. Intertwined bodies, undulating, frothing, and cresting on the shores of desire.

She wasn’t a nun yet, was she? Couldn’t she indulge? Just once?

But as quickly as she tried to reason out any tryst she might enjoy, she knew instinctively there might be a lot more to a guy like Curran. What might start out as some delightful romp could well turn into something…serious.

Serious.

Steve.

She sighed again as more rain beat against the window and roof. Lauren clutched the covers to her chin and opened her eyes. She could almost convince herself that Curran was standing at the foot of her bed, naked from the waist up.

She could imagine the etched details of his strong chest, the tightness of his abdominals, the rounding of his shoulders and biceps, and the tough sinews that lined his forearms.

She could imagine him bending over her, pressing his lips against hers. Feeling his warm breath tickling her neck as he nuzzled her. And then the moistness of his tongue as he traced his way all over her body.

Everywhere.

Oh my…

Sweat broke out along her hairline as the images danced faster.

Lauren sighed again and rolled over on her stomach, squeezing her legs together, hoping to ward off the fuzzy sensations sweeping through her lower body.

Steve.

She swung her legs out of bed and sat up, wiping her hand across her forehead. It came away damp. She stared at the line of moisture on the back of her hand and watched it dry there.

She shivered — unprotected in the darkness.

This is what she got for trying to figure out her problems when she should have been sleeping. She frowned. I should just get a glass of water, drink it down, and go back to bed.

But would that help her?

She got out of bed and paced her room. She looked at the wall, at the crucifix hanging there. She walked toward it, running her hands over the cool wood.

She knelt and bowed her head.

Dear God, help me find the strength to carry on. Help me do what is right. Help me decide what I can do to help, what I can do to stop this evil. Keep me safe. And keep Steve safe, too. Please…

Please help me.

Across town, Curran lay in bed.

Wide-awake.

Tonight had been close. If we hadn’t gotten there just then…his thoughts trailed off and images filled his head of another crime scene. This one with a chalk outline that looked like the shape of Lauren.

If we’d been any later, he would have gotten her.

The Soul Eater.

The hundred year-old oak tree in his backyard groaned under the forces of the wind and Curran heard it creak. One of these days, it was going to crash down and probably split his roof in half. But Curran had never been able to bring himself to have it cut down. Something about its strength and resilience after all these years impressed him.

Hell, it inspired him.

Was that how he saw himself, he wondered. Like an old oak standing in the wind?

He didn’t feel very resilient just then. After all, the notions of the supernatural still made him wince. He was a facts and figures guy, not someone who got turned on by the latest new age mumbo-jumbo hype.

But Kwon had been right. When science couldn’t explain what was happening, where else could you turn? And at what point did the supernatural stop being so far-fetched?

Now seemed as good a time as any.

And there’d been very real danger tonight.

To Lauren.

He sighed.

She was beautiful. And Curran really wanted her.

He thought about how she looked in the white blouses she seemed to wear everywhere. The way they buttoned up so high and yet still managed to show off the roundness of her bosom.

He sighed again. His groin swelled vaguely.

He looked down.

Maybe just -

No.

Lauren wasn’t like other women, he decided. In the past when he needed a release, a quick jerk-off usually sufficed. But some how he knew it wouldn’t for Lauren. And the visualization would disappoint him. It would cheapen her, in his mind only perhaps.

But Curran didn’t want to do that.

Tempting as it was.

He lay in bed with his hands behind his head, feeling the press of his palms against the back of his skull. So what could he do to win her over? What could he do to make peace with his own doubts?

Maybe I should just believe everything, he thought. Maybe I should just have some faith.

Maybe Kwon’s right.

Curran hopped out of bed and felt the thin carpeting greet the undersides of his socks as he padded down the hall to the bathroom. A cold breeze danced along the hallway with him.

He paused.

Cold breezes seemed to be all around him lately.

And damned if he knew why.

He walked into the bathroom.

The breeze came with him.

He pulled down his boxer shorts and tried to urinate.

The breeze cloyed at him.

He frowned. Hadn’t he heard something, sometime way back in his past about the cold being the herald of the dead?

In the darkness, he squinted. Was that a shadow moving outside in the hallway?

He sighed and tried to press his bladder. A thin trickle came out of the tip of his penis, dribbling into the bowl. The air grew even colder.

Curran grew more frustrated.

He cleared his throat.

— caught himself.

What the hell are you gonna say, sport? He thought. You gonna talk to the dead here in the cold confines of your bathroom? That’s a great way to start, ain’t it?

He sighed, plopped his member back on the inside of his shorts and padded back to the bedroom.

The cold followed him.

He shivered under the covers.

“What do you want?” he whispered. “What?”

It got colder.

“Jesus,” he said without thinking.

His curtains shifted. Almost fluttering in the darkness.

But the window’s closed, he thought. How the hell is that happening if the window’s closed?

Images floated into his mind. He saw Lauren. He saw himself. Curran tried to direct the flow of images to include a passionate love scene.

But it wouldn’t work.

Something else seemed to be in control. Curran saw images of Lauren scared. He saw himself scared as well. And then he saw the shadow looming over them both. Darkness and cold seeped everywhere in his consciousness.

Under the covers, Curran shivered violently.

And kept his eyes shut.

The images changed, split almost in two as if he were seeing double. He could see Lauren lying on the floor, in some kind of carved sarcophagus. Beside her, he could see Lauren smiling at him. But it was an evil wicked smile, full of hatred for him — but not just for him. For all humans.

The images changed again and Curran saw a big jar with strange writing on it. It was filled with some kind of bubbling frothy liquid. And in his mind, Curran could smell it now, the fermenting vile substance that it contained.

In his mind, he moved closer to the jar. He could see his hands reach out toward it. He came closer. He leaned toward the gunk inside. He peered closer. Was it boiling? A bubble rose to the surface and popped, coating Curran’s face.

A little dribbled toward his lips and Curran’s tongue flicked instinctively.

And tasted it.

He sat bolt upright, eyes flying open.

A dream.

His stomach rolled and churned.

Not a dream-

My God!

Curran threw off the sheets.

Ran down the hallway — hadn’t he just been here?

In the bathroom he clawed for the sink. Felt his insides buck and vault skyward the contents of his stomach. It came out of him in a rush of seething acid — chunks of undigested dinner mixed with the orange juice he’d had before bed. His throat burned.

He turned the spigot and cold water rushed out into the sink, swirling the bloated mixture around before washing it down the drain. Curran scooped some into his mouth, washing it around and spitting it back into the porcelain sink. He sucked down some more, tilted his head back and gargled it, trying to quell the burning.

He scooped more onto his suddenly hot face. It ran over his eyes and cheeks. He felt so hot, like the water would almost boil off his skin and evaporate into the night.

He drank a few mouthfuls and then finished washing the sink out. He could still smell his own puke. But thankfully his stomach seemed calm once again.

His hands found the small towel he kept beside the sink and pressed it to his face. The material sucked in the water and dried him. He dabbed it across his skin and then let it fall back to the sink edge.

In the mirror above the sink, he looked at himself.

And sighed.

What the hell was happening to him?”

Chapter Sixteen

“You look like crap, Steve.”

Curran flipped the bird to his co-worker as he walked through the doors to the homicide unit. “Last thing I need right now, pal.”

The truth was he felt like crap, too. Of course, heaving up dinner into the bathroom sink didn’t normally leave him feeling too spiffy. Coupled with the weird dream he’d had and the subsequent lack of sleep, it was no wonder the other guys in the department all gave him strange looks.

The last thing he wanted to do today was come to work.

No rest for the wicked, he thought with a wry grin.

He slid into the seat at his desk and turned on the computer. The machine beeped twice, warmed up and prompted him for his passwords. Curran typed them in. His phone rang.

“Curran.”

Kwon’s voice sounded hoarse. “It’s me.”

“You go out drinking last night after I dropped you off? You sound like you gargled sandpaper.”

“Sick, I think. Anyway, I just got the carbon-dating results on that button you found last night.”

“Already?”

“I got a lot of people in this town who owe me favors besides the likes of you, pal. I collected on one of them.”

Curran shifted some of the papers on his desk so he could take notes on what Kwon told him. “Guy know his stuff?”

“The lady actually, is a professor over at MIT, so yeah, offhand I’d say she’s pretty skilled at working the instrument.”

“And?” Curran glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t even ten o’clock yet. He wanted a cigarette.

“You’re going to love this: the button dates to between 32,000 and 28,000 years ago.”

Curran leaned forward. “How old?”

“You heard right. I couldn’t believe it, either. She ran the test three times to be sure.”

Curran sighed, trying to wrap his mind around the implications. “I wasn’t even aware human bone could last that long.”

“Well, it does. And in this case, it’s been treated with something to help preserve it.”

“Did they have buttons back then?”

“That’s the other thing. This wasn’t meant to be a button per se.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it started out as a human bone. Then later, probably much later, someone decided to turn it into a button. The holes in it are much more recent.”

“Is there some type of law against this?”

“You’re asking me?” Kwon paused. “You’re the cop.”

“I’m thinking out loud is all,” said Curran.

“I can’t imagine it’d be okay if the bones were recent. But they’re not. You could make the argument that this is simply another fossil of sorts and the owner simply chose to make an adornment out of it.”

“But you don’t think that’s the case.”

Kwon paused. “To me, it seems more like some kind of trophy. I know it sounds weird, but just holding this thing kinda freaks me out.”

“I don’t have it here and I’m already freaked.”

“You want me to drop it by?”

“You coming this way?”

“Sure. I got to drop a report over there anyway. See you in twenty.”

“It’s probably an antique of some sort.”

Curran fingered the bone button again as Kwon looked on. In the office light, it looked even stranger than it had last night when he’d picked it off the sidewalk. He turned it over. It had been worn smooth and dulled to a yellowish cream color. Still, there was a faint sheen. Almost as if someone had treated it. Just like Kwon had mentioned. Curran eyed him. “You think?”

“That old, it’s got to be. I can’t imagine too many people running around with something like that locked in a curio cabinet.”

“A curio — Kwon you amaze me sometimes with what comes out of your mouth.”

“What? I keep abreast of a lot of stuff.”

Especially if there were beautiful women involved, thought Curran. He looked at the button again. “Weird to think of this as having come from someone’s body.”

“Yeah.”

“Which bone was it, do you know?”

“I could take a guess, but it’d be just that. Offhand, I’d think it came from the pelvis, given the fact it’s almost an inch and a half across.”

“Great, now I feel like I’m fondling someone’s privates.”

Kwon grinned. “You think this is a clue to the identity of the Soul Eater?”

Curran glanced around. No one had heard kwon. Good. “Keep your voice down, pal. I don’t people in here thinking I’m off on some weird witch hunt.”

“Sorry.”

Curran looked at the four holes in the bone where there’d been thread presumably holding it to fabric. A coat? Maybe. “I’ve got nothing else to go on. I could plant myself on Lauren for twenty-four hours a day and see if that guy shows up, but I don’t think he would with me watching her.”

“Where is she now?”

“Stashed away at a friend’s house.” Curran grinned remembering the previous night and how he’d felt hearing her phone a guy only to find out he was a priest. “I doubt her stalker will find her.”

“Of course, her stalker may not exactly be your average guy.”

“That’s why we’re going on the offensive.”

“We?”

“Too busy?”

“Got a twenty-one year old kid who decided to celebrate his legal birthday by drinking himself to death in Allston last night. He’s waiting on me.”

Curran nodded. “You available again later?”

Kwon rolled his eyes. “Not another stake-out?”

“Don’t know yet. I have to see how today goes.”

“Call me, “ said Kwon walking out.

Curran nodded and kept examining the button.

Boston was an antiques town. Between the old blue blood wealthy and the nouveau riche, antique stores by the dozens had sprung up catering to every whim and fancy. Some of them, Curran discovered, kept their storefronts gleaming like giant neon signs. Others preferred a more modest profile.

Like the one Curran walked into on Charles Street, at the foot of Beacon Hill in the Back Bay section of Boston. Not far from where he and Kwon had swooped in to rescue Lauren last night, he thought absently as the silver bell above the doorway tinkled thrice upon his entrance.

Thick carpeting immediately hushed his footsteps. The air felt warm against his skin and there seemed a slight scent of incense in the air. Or cleanser. Curran wasn’t sure which.

He spotted several old dishes set out on wooden shelves close to the door. But he supposed the real pricey stuff must have been contained in the series of glass enclosed counters that ran across the middle of the store, some four feet tall. Curran smiled. It was an effective and subtle fence from the rear of the store.

And who knew what goodies lay back there.

Within the glass cases, Curran spotted rows of silverware. Some still tarnished and others gleaming as if recently cleaned. Another shelf held small daggers with some type of script running down the blades. Still another featured an assortment of broaches, clasps, and…buttons.

Curran’s interest piqued.

“Can I help you?”

Curran stood and smiled. The man facing him must have been a few years older, but his age seemed difficult to discern given the inordinate amount of creases around his mouth and eyes. His black hair was streaked with gray and in places, almost pure white.

Curran flashed his badge. “Detective Curran.”

The man smiled. “My name is Darius Assiniya. Welcome to my store.” He frowned. “Although I trust if this were merely a shopping trip you wouldn’t have felt the need to divulge your occupation.”

His voice flowed out in a smooth and even tone. Cultured. Accented. British? No. But maybe he’d been schooled there, Curran decided.

He grinned. “I wish I only was just shopping. But I’m not.”

“What do you do for the police, Detective?”

“Homicide.”

“Has there been a murder? I heard no such thing in the news this morning.”

“A few days back. I’ve been investigating. And I came upon something I’ve been looking for some help with.”

Darius inclined his head. “If I may aid you in any way, please do not hesitate to ask.”

Curran’s hand closed around the button and he brought it out of his coat pocket. “This was recovered at the crime scene. I’ve been trying to find someone who could possibly identify it and help us get closer to the killer.”

Darius extended his hand and Curran saw how clawlike it appeared. Tendons and ligaments slithered underneath the thin covering of liver-spotted skin like snakes. Darius turned his hand over and Curran noticed the deep lines scoring his palm.

“May I?”

Curran dropped the button into his hand. He felt glad to be rid of the bone button. Somehow it didn’t feel right holding it. Like the button knew it didn’t belong to him.

Darius slid a pair of spectacle onto the bridge of his nose and peered at the button. “My, my. This is quite something.”

“We had it carbon-dated this morning.”

“And what were the results if you don’t mind me asking?”

“According to the scientist we had look at it, that bone dates back roughly 30,000 years.”

“Amazing,” said Darius. “This is quite a fine specimen.”

“You don’t seem so surprised by it. Doesn’t it strike you as strange that someone saw fit to make a button out of it?”

Darius looked at him and smiled. Christ, he’s got white teeth, thought Curran.

“I’m no longer amazed by much, Detective. Given my occupation, I see a great many things that have long since dulled my aptness to jump about with such emotion. I am used to seeing things such as this. Whereas others might recoil in horror at the thought of human bones being used for implements like a button, I am not inclined to react thus. I find it intriguing, but not so unusual.”

“You’ve seen things like this before?”

Darius peered at the button. “You said almost 30,000 years ago?”

“Yeah.”

Darius nodded. “I would think this bone most likely dates back to the Aurignacian period.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s named for an area near the foothills of the Pyrenees in France. In 1860, a group of scientists discovered rock shelters there and evidence nearby suggested that stone and bone tools had been fashioned in the vicinity. Quite fascinating, really.”

“You think this comes from that period in history?”

Darius nodded. “Along with the rock shelters, they also found cave paintings in nearby caves. One of them, if I recall my history correctly, rose to almost fifty feet — the cavern that is. On the walls they found crude paintings of animals, man, and a type of weird hybrid man/beast.”

“Man/beast?”

Darius smiled. “Well, that’s what the scientists called it. While the tools were also dated to almost 30,000 years old, some of the paintings were supposedly much older than that. And interestingly, some of the paintings had been created using a mixture of paints derived from both plants, and blood — animal and human.”

Curran shifted. “Fascinating.”

Darius held the button up. “Now, obviously, Neanderthals or whatever they call the type of fellows running around back then, weren’t familiar with the concept of a button of all things.”

“Can’t see how they would be.”

“Which means this,” Darius held up the button to the light overhead, “was probably transformed into a button at a much later date.”

“That’s what we thought.”

“Still, it’s an awfully peculiar item to have sort of laying about the house as it were. And one can’t help but wonder what sort of thought goes into making human bone into a button.”

“I’d like to know.”

Darius grinned. “I’ll bet I could fetch a large amount for this piece, though, I don’t mind telling you. Any chance I can have it when you’re done with it?”

Curran smiled. “I don’t know.” He glanced around. “I notice you’ve got a fair assortment of buttons here in the cabinet.”

“Oh yes. Most of mine are made from other materials. Certainly nothing quite so exotic as human bone. Jade, stone, whale bone, and a few other sorts as well.”

Curran looked at him. “You’ve been here long?”

“The store? Actually just over six months.”

“Where were you before that?”

“Am I under suspicion of something, detective?”

“Just trying to get acquainted.”

Darius smiled but his face told Curran he wasn’t buying it. “I was over in Saudi Arabia for a few years. I’m sure you can appreciate the transient nature of my business. I go where I can find and sell items of age. The products and clients dictate my location.”

“You do have a very traveled air about you.” Curran pointed to the nearest dagger. “What’s the history of that piece?”

“It’s a tanto. Japanese. It dates back to the 1400s, what was known as the Sengoku Jidai — the warring states period. Awfully bloody time to be alive back then. Most of the country was torn apart by civil strife. Feuding families, samurai warriors, all that lot.”

“You live around here?”

“No, just the store is here. I bought it at quite a nice price from the previous owner. But I reside elsewhere.”

Curran said nothing so Darius continued. “In Chestnut Hill.”

Curran nodded. Chestnut Hill had its fair share of wealth. Not too much, but not exactly the poor section of town, either.

“Way I figure it,” he said then, “someone must have dropped that button during the crime. I’d sure like to find the owner.”

Darius smiled. “Presumably, the owner would like to have this button back as well.”

“Exactly.” Curran pulled out a business card and slid it across the counter. “Do me a favor, will you and keep an eye out for anyone who comes asking for a replacement?”

“You really think they’ll expect it to turn up in some place like my store?”

Curran shrugged. “In this business, you never know what to expect. The strangest things happen all the time.”

Darius handed him back the button. “In that case, consider me your eyes and ears.”

“Thank you.” Curran turned and started to leave. He stopped. “Mr. Assiniya?”

“Yes?”

“You don’t have your coat handy by any chance do you?”

Darius’ teeth flashed again. “I’m getting worried you suspect me of something, detective.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about human bones.”

“No more so than any other antiques dealer.”

“Actually, you’re the best so far. I’ve been to fifteen other shops today.”

“I’m surprised by that.” Darius turned and started for the back room. He stopped and looked back. “It’s all right, is it — if I get my coat for you, I mean?”

“Sure.”

He returned a second later with a gray herringbone overcoat that looked like something Sherlock Holmes would have worn. Not the big black overcoat that Lauren had described. And as Curran examined it, he could see it was missing no buttons.

He handed it back. “Thanks for putting my mind at ease.”

“Not at all. Good day, detective.”

Curran nodded and walked out of the shop. Back into the cold November air.

Back to the hunt.

Chapter Seventeen

“You understand why it is that I asked you to come in here this morning?”

Lauren sat in Sister McDewey’s office, although this time, it didn’t seem nearly so cozy as it had on other occasions. Even the nun’s demeanor had changed from tepid to almost hostile. The look she regarded Lauren with almost shook Lauren to her core.

“You have some questions. I’ll do my best to answer them.”

Sister McDewey steepled her fingers. “Right now, what concerns us most is the disappearance of not one, but two of our nuns. Sister Donovan, granted, was not long for the earth. But Sister Mary was young. She had years ahead of her. And now both of them have vanished. No trace. No note. Nothing.”

Lauren tried to keep her face from revealing anything. “You’ve spoken with the police?”

“They told me there were no bodies at the residence. Despite the fact that you claimed seeing both of them dead.” Sister McDewey sighed. “All of which leaves me feeling very perplexed.” She shifted in her chair. “On one hand, we could endeavor to find some degree of foul play. But without bodies, the police aren’t apt to look into it all that much.”

“There were bodies,” said Lauren quietly.

“And yet, you were the last person presumably to inquire about Sister Donovan and her whereabouts. You understand how unusual this whole thing looks?”

You ought to see it from my perspective, thought Lauren. She nodded. “Absolutely.”

“So, what I’m asking you right now is to tell me what exactly is going on here.”

Lauren cleared her throat. “I don’t know exactly.”

Sister McDewey shook her head. “That’s not the answer I was looking for.”

“It’s the truth.” She sighed. “My brother was killed a week or so back.”

“You told me that.”

“The killer, apparently, is known to a detective on the police force.”

“Again, I believe we covered this ground already.”

“I’m getting to the point, Sister,” said Lauren. She wanted to say, now just shut up! “When this detective was with the FBI, he ran into the killer several times. Or I should say, the killer’s handiwork.”

“He never caught the killer?”

“No.”

“Not much of an FBI agent was he?”

Lauren frowned. She didn’t like hearing dispersions cast about Steve. “I’m sure he worked very hard to find him. But it didn’t pan out.”

“What does the death of your brother have to do with two missing nuns?”

“The cases are connected. I feel very strongly about that.”

“Specifically?”

Lauren took a breath. “The killer seems to be…supernatural.”

Sister McDewey’s eyebrows shot up. “Pardon?”

“Supernatural. I know how crazy that must sound, but it’s true. At least as near as we can figure.”

“We?”

“I’ve been working with the detective.”

Sister McDewey leaned forward. “Aren’t you supposed to be studying right now?”

“Surely the death of one’s family can take some degree of precedence over academics, even for just a short time.”

“That’s your decision.”

“All the victims — “

“How many are there?”

“They’ve spanned a number of years across a variety of states.”

Sister McDewey leaned back. “Go on.”

“All of the victims were killed in the same manner. But their bodies showed no signs of death — that is to say no signs of foul play. Each one seemed the picture of health, and yet, the were killed.”

“This is sounding a bit unusual, Lauren.”

“I agree. It sounds insane. But it’s not. Remember when I visited you earlier this week asking about research material?”

“You were asking about a reverse laying of hands. I remember that.”

“I asked you if there was a way to look into it — some kind of special library that might aid me in my search.”

“And I told you to forget about it.” Sister McDewey’s eyes narrowed. “But I can see it did no good trying to steer you away from that.” She sighed. “You found the library, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You know you’re out of your league here?”

Lauren didn’t think the Devil played by any organized rules, but didn’t say so. “I don’t know that. I know I was able to find out some very interesting things.”

“Such as?”

“I read about something called a Soul Eater.”

“Soul-“ Sister McDewey sighed again. “Lauren, listen to yourself. Don’t you realize that the problem with historical texts is the inability on our part to accurately verify what might be truth and what might have been simply written to help persuade the local populace of the power of Christianity? That’s exactly why I told you not to go nosing around. The babbling of some intoxicated monk writing with ink and quill could very easily distort the logical mind.”

“So you don’t believe in any of what is stored in that special room within the library?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I wish I had the courage to disavow it.” Lauren shook her head. “But I know what I read and how I’ve been feeling lately. Something is definitely happening. Whether or not we want to believe it.”

“You think this Soul Eater is afoot? Is that it?”

“Yes.”

“For what purpose? Why would he come back now to wreak havoc? It makes no sense.”

“How is good able to fathom the evil mind? Just because we can’t see it, that doesn’t mean there isn’t a good reason for this happening now.”

Sister McDewey leaned back again. “A Soul Eater. He eats the souls of his victims, I take it.”

“It seems to fit the way the corpses turn up.”

“And how many has this Soul Eater killed so far in Boston?”

“Well, that’s another aspect of the problem.”

“What’s that mean?”

“The homicide detective discovered that all of the other victims all had one thing in common: they were all incredibly evil.”

Sister McDewey shrugged. “Seems odd a creature of Satan would target the evil. I would think he’d go after the good instead.”

“That’s a good question. We’re not sure why that’s been happening.” Lauren sighed. “But since coming to Boston, the Soul Eater has killed two evil men, and two good.”

“Sisters Mary and Donovan.”

“Yes. He was in the house the other night. I know it. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him. His presence. I’ve felt it before.”

“But he left you alone.”

“I don’t understand it myself. I can only relate to you what I’ve been going through.” Or at least part of what I’m going through, she thought.

“You’ve definitely got a lot on your plate right now.” Sister McDewey frowned. “I’m trusting you on this that what you’re telling me is an honest account of what occurred. You understand that?”

“Yes. And it is.”

“You also realize that I’m bound to report this to the Bishop and his council.”

“Is that wise right now?”

“Child, if there is truly a servant of the Devil afoot here in town then steps must be taken to stop it.”

“But we don’t even know for what purpose it’s here.”

“Nor should we delay in finding out what it is. Perhaps some on the council have dealt with such things before.” She shook her head. “I’m the first to admit my own knowledge of the arcane and occult is severely limited. I never had much time for such things. Perhaps that’s my own fault.”

Lauren said nothing. The last thing she wanted was a bunch of old Church officials spreading the word that something evil was prowling the streets of Boston. She doubted Steve would be thrilled with the idea, either.

“Sister McDewey, I need to ask you a favor.”

“Don’t try to dissuade me, Lauren. I won’t have it.”

“I won’t try. But I would like to ask you to hold off on informing anyone for forty-eight hours.”

“There could be other victims in the meantime.”

“Yes. Perhaps.”

“Are you comfortable accepting responsibility for that? If I don’t tell the Bishop today and they are unable to act, those deaths would be on your conscience.”

“I know that.”

Sister McDewey sighed again. She seemed to be doing that a lot today, thought Lauren. “Very well. Two days. From now. If you don’t have something more concrete, then I will tell the Bishop. It’s lucky for you he’s still busy dealing with sexual abuse scandals or I’d be hard-pressed to accept your deadline.”

A small victory. Lauren inclined her head. “Thank you.”

“What will you do if you find this Soul Eater, anyway? You aren’t trained for dealing with the supernatural. Certainly not something as ominous sounding as a Soul Eater.”

Lauren stood. “I’m not sure what I’ll do. I’m hoping that it can be killed with bullets. As is the homicide detective.”

“Let’s hope so,” said Sister McDewey. “I’ll expect to see you back here in two days’ time.”

Lauren turned and headed toward the door.

“Lauren.”

She turned. “Yes?”

“Have you given any thought to how you’ll find this Soul Eater?”

Lauren could see the concern evident in the old nun’s eyes. The crows feet at the edges of her eyes had deepened and the creases by her mouth seemed firmer.

“I don’t think me finding the Soul Eater will be much of a problem, Sister.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s had no trouble finding me.”

Sister McDewey’s eyebrows lifted again. “What do you mean by that?”

“Last night at the library, someone was across the street. Waiting for me. If my friend hadn’t shown up, I’d hate to think what might have happened.”

“My God.”

Lauren nodded. “One way or another, I’m starting to think that I might just somehow figure into this whole bizarre mess.”

And God help me if that’s true, she thought.

Chapter Eighteen

Curran sat in the coffee shop on Newbury Street reading through the stack of files he’d pulled together on the various antiques dealers he’d spent the day interviewing. For some reason, his gut ached when he thought about them. Maybe his body was telling him there was a connection to the crime here, he thought. Maybe the Soul Eater is one of these people.

He flipped through them, never really settling on any in particular. Most of them read the same: advanced college degrees, some type of money in their background, a lot of bachelors — some gay some not, and not really a lot that made any of them stand out to the degree Curran hoped.

But one file was slimmer than any of the others.

Darius Assiniya.

It wasn’t just that he was a foreign-born national that had made finding things about him so difficult, there just didn’t seem to be very much information out there at all.

Curran found that unusual.

Especially when his gut ached even worse when Darius’ file surfaced at the top of the pile. Curran flipped it open and began reading the scant information the computers had spat out.

According to several sources abroad, including a dispatch from Interpol, Darius Assiniya had been born in the 1950s. Location: unknown. Parents: presumed deceased. Siblings: none listed. Education: On record of having graduated from Oxford in 1966 with a degree in Ancient Religions.

He’d moved around quite a lot. He’d lived a few years in the United Kingdom, in London and Manchester. He’d shown up in Germany, Italy, and Spain. Two addresses in Southeast Asia, including Thailand and the Philippines. He’d bounced over to Australia and then over to Kenya. From there he’d come north to Moscow before crossing the Atlantic and hanging out in Rio de Janeiro for a while. He’d finally worked his way north to the United States a few years back. There was a record of him entering the United States in Seattle, Washington.

Seems more like the kind of lifestyle a career criminal would have rather than a normal person, thought Curran. But Darius had said his clients and products dictated his location. That much made sense.

So what bothered him so much about the guy?

He took a drag on his coffee and leaned back. He’d kill for a butt right now, but this was one of those new age hippie shops that catered to the VegeNazis and Soy Gestapo. Curran wouldn’t have even come in here at all if Lauren hadn’t called him an hour ago asking to meet him here.

He stared out the window at the throngs of people shuffling past the murky windows. The skies had darkened again. Gray streaks bled into charcoal and blackness. He sighed.

I hate this freaking month.

A cool breeze swept over him and he instantly felt his adrenaline drip. But the front door had opened ushering in a taste of the cold from outside.

Lauren came hustling over. “Hi.” She was out of breath. Curran smiled. She still looked so beautiful even when she was rushed.

“You okay?”

“Just cold.” She dropped into the chair opposite from him. Curran closed the files and pushed them to one side. He motioned for a waitress who came over.

Lauren ordered a coffee and then leaned forward. “I had a meeting today with one of the administrators at the school.”

“Yeah?”

“She told me she’d have to inform the Bishop what was going on.”

Curran frowned. “What gives her the right? This is a police matter.”

“It might well become a Church matter, Steve.”

He sighed. “I don’t like this.” The last thing he needed was a bunch of priests warning the populace about demons in the streets. Cripes it’d be a circus. The media spotlight would be unbearable.

“Don’t worry.” Lauren looked pleased. “I got her to give us forty-eight hours.”

Curran looked at her. “Two days? What the hell are we supposed to accomplish in two days?”

She looked hurt. “I thought you’d be glad.”

“I am. I am.” He shook his head. “Just wasn’t expecting a deadline so damned soon.”

“Aren’t you getting pressure at work?”

Yeah, right. Like anyone was going to bitch about a bunch of scumbags who’d gotten wasted. “No. In fact, I could let the cases ferment for years in the unsolved file and no one would give a damn. The only reason I am is because I know the killer is more dangerous than any of his victims.”

She nodded. “Did you have any luck today?”

“You mean aside from exhausting myself?” He shrugged. “Depends on how you define luck.”

“What do you mean?”

“I spent the day interviewing a bunch of antiques dealers in the area. That’s not exactly a prescription for excitement.”

“What on earth did you do that for?”

“The souvenir from last night, remember?”

She sighed. “The button. I’d almost forgotten.”

“I’d want to forget, too.”

“Did Dr. Kwon do the carbon-dating test?”

Curran smiled and took another sip of his coffee. “Would you believe the bone is almost 30,000 years old?”

Her eyes opened wider and Curran thought they looked even more brilliant. “That’s incredible.”

“It was turned into a button much later. But the bone is that old. So, I figured that maybe someone with a real fetish for stuff like that would know about it.”

“Did you find anyone who fit the profile?”

He shrugged. “A few of them had a thing for buttons, but no one had ever seen anything like what I showed them. Except for one guy.”

“Yes?”

“Got a shop over on Charles Street. Little place, but some interesting items in there.”

“What did he say about the button?”

“He knew the age the bone came from. Called it ‘agni-‘ something or other. Said it came from a region in Southern France. Amazing, huh?”

“Maybe he specialized in that in school.”

“Maybe,” said Curran. Outside, the sky gave way to more rain. He watched a few drops stain the white cement dark.

“What is it?”

He looked back at her. “Probably nothing. I’ve just got this feeling that there’s more to this guy than I can see on the surface.”

“Your feelings are telling you something.”

Curran looked at her. He could see the glimmer in her eyes. Hope. She wanted him so much to give in to his feelings. To listen. To learn.

He sighed. “Yeah. Probably.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Maybe sit on him for a while. See what turns up.”

“You mean surveillance, right?”

“Yeah. Sorry. It’s just there was something there this afternoon when I saw him. Weird. Like some sort of connection. I didn’t go there with the intention of questioning him so much as just asking him to keep an eye out for something strange. But then we got to talking and the next thing I know, I’m asking to see his winter coat. Weird.”

“He complied, of course.”

“Be damned foolish not to. But even though nothing turned up, I couldn’t shake the idea that he was — I don’t know — almost mocking in the tone of his voice. Like he was the keeper of some great secret. Crazy, huh?”

“Maybe not, Steve.”

“Yeah, maybe he’s the Soul Eater. Maybe he’s the caretaker of some beast he lets loose upon the world at night.” He smiled. “I’ve been watching too many bad horror flicks.”

Lauren’s eyes never left his. She seemed to be staring intently at him. “Seems to me that your intuition might be gaining some strength.”

Curran nodded. “So we sit on him and see what happens next.”

“You know if he’s really involved somehow in this, he might just be able to spot any surveillance.”

“Yeah. But what other choice do we have? I don’t know too many people who can psychically monitor someone.”

“Neither do I,” said Lauren. “But we might want to be real careful.”

“Kwon and I will handle it. You’ve got other stuff to do.”

“Like what?”

“Like try to figure out what exactly this Soul Eater is trying to accomplish. Didn’t you mention that Sister Donovan’s last words were-“

“-he lives best through the evil of others,’ yes. I don’t think I’ll ever forget those words as long as I live.”

“Right. But what do they mean?”

She shrugged. “I wish I knew.”

“Tell me about Sister Donovan.”

Lauren took a sip of coffee and then wiped her mouth on a napkin. “No one really knew her all that well. She’d been a missionary for years. Traveled all over the world. She told me the other night, before her death, that her husband had researched a lot of evil things in the world. Supernatural stuff. He died and she took over his research. Said she moved from place to place trying to piece together what her husband had been trying to accomplish.”

“She say if she was successful?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about journals? She might have kept some type of diary. Maybe she wrote some of this stuff down somewhere.”

“I thought that too but I found nothing at the library the other night.”

Curran nodded. “So, maybe she kept it some place else. Maybe she felt like she couldn’t share this stuff with the powers that be. After all, how open is the Church to matters like this?”

“Judging from how the nun I spoke with today took the news, they’re not all that well primed for it. Most of the Church administration is far too focused on dealing with the sexual abuse cases that have been pending.”

Curran nodded. “As well they damned well ought to be.” He fought back the rising surge of anger and sighed. “So, maybe this old nun she was a lot smarter than anyone thought. Maybe she hid the journals.”

“You think?”

“Seen stranger things before.” Curran frowned. “Cripes, maybe the Soul Eater showed up over there the other night trying to find them himself.”

Lauren’s eyes lit up. “My God, you really are starting to believe.”

“I haven’t seen any alternatives that make a strong case. So if this is the way it comes down, I have to try and figure it out like a normal case. Just with abnormal ingredients.”

Lauren seemed to be getting excited. “Maybe Sister Donovan hid them at her house then.”

“Maybe,” said Curran. “Maybe the Soul Eater found them.”

She slumped back. “That would be bad.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe he didn’t.”

Curran nodded. “Always a chance she hid them well enough. Especially if she knew anything about what we’re dealing with. She might have known how to conceal it from this guy.”

“I wonder if I can get in there,” said Lauren.

“You want to go right now?”

“We don’t have much time. Two days will be over before we know it.”

“I’ll have to go watch that antiques dealer, though.” Curran frowned as the thought hit him. “You’d be alone.”

Lauren bit her lip. “Yes. I would.”

Curran reached into his coat and brought out the small automatic. He kept it in the palm of his hand and pressed it into Lauren’s hands. “You ever fire a gun before?”

She looked down. “Once. I took a self-defense course that stressed real life knowledge and practice.” Her eyes seemed sad. “But I can’t take this. I can’t carry a gun, Steve.”

“You’d rather end up dead?”

She looked at him.

Curran continued. “Look, you might not like the idea of the gun, but if you die and you’re not able to help fight this evil thing off, then wouldn’t you be even more responsible? You could use this to defend yourself and possibly save hundreds of lives.”

“Most of those lives are pretty evil in their own right.”

“Yeah. Yeah they are.”

“But we’re all God’s creatures.”

Curran smiled. “I was waiting for that.” He nodded. “Just tuck it away in your coat. You won’t even notice it. It’s a small.380. Carries six rounds. You know how to work a safety catch and all that?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Curran looked at his watch. “I’ve got to get going. Kwon’s going to be waiting for me.”

“All right.”

Curran stood. The pile of folders he’d been reading through when Lauren came in shifted. He saw it too late. His hands flew out trying to catch them, but they dropped to the stained linoleum floor. Papers and printouts scattered across the small area between their table and the one next to them.

“Dammit.” Curran bent and started shoving the papers back into the folders. He and Kwon could take turns getting them straightened out later on. At least it would give them something to do.

Lauren bent down. “Let me help you.”

Her hand brushed against his. Curran looked up and met her eyes. She smiled. And kept her hand there. Curran smiled. Her skin felt so warm. He wondered what the rest of her felt like.

He broke the contact. Gonna burn in hell for deflowering one of God’s women, he thought.

“Steve.”

He sighed. “Yeah?”

“Who is this?”

Curran glanced up. Lauren held a glossy photo of one of the antiques dealers. “Let me see.”

She handed it to him. Curran nodded. “This is that guy Darius I was telling you about.”

Lauren’s eyes never left the photograph. “I think that was the man outside the library.”

“How can you be sure? You said you only caught a glimpse of him. You said there was a mustache.”

She took the photo and a pen out of her pocket. Curran watched her scribble across Darius’ upper lip.

Lauren leaned back.

“My God. It’s him.”

Chapter Nineteen

The house looked different now, thought Lauren as she walked toward it.

After she’d left Curran, she’d taken the train out toward Boston College. She’d walked slowly down the streets of this neighborhood, almost oblivious to the growing wind and ever present drizzle. But she did look behind her a number of times. Part of her almost expected to see the man again.

Her stalker.

What did the Soul Eater want? Lauren wanted to know the answer to that question worse than anything she’d wanted before. She stopped. What if the answer’s not good?

She frowned. Of course it wouldn’t be good. The Soul Eater was a minion of the Devil. How could anything he wanted be good? It wouldn’t be. Better to just resign myself to the inevitable rush of horror that will happen when I discover what it is.

If I discover it, she quickly corrected herself.

She drew close to the front steps. There was no sign that anything had even happened here. No tape marks from where the police would have put up the yellow crime scene tape. After all, there was no crime scene. No bodies. No nothing.

Darkness had fallen on the neighborhood almost an hour ago. Deep shadows bled out from the shrubs surrounding the small house. There were lights on in only one or two of the houses further down the street. Most of the people living close by weren’t home from work yet.

Perfect.

Lauren looked at the front door and frowned. It would, of course, be locked.

There had to be another way in.

She saw a small flagstone path running down one side of the house and took it. It led her to the back door. Lauren tried to door handle and found that locked as well.

From her bag, she took out a roll of duct tape and penknife. She drew out a long strip of the silver sticky tape and then cut it. She pressed it diagonally across the pane of glass. Then she repeated the process, this time pressing the line of tape in the other direction so there appeared a gossamer ‘X’ on the back door.

She paused, glanced around, and shook her head. Lauren Fields, she thought, nun and burglar.

She slammed her left elbow at the intersection of tape and heard the glass give. The tape held it fast though, keeping it from shattering and making an awful noise. Lauren kept breaking the glass until she could reach her hand through and unlatch the bolt.

Two minutes after she’d started, she entered the back hall of Sister Donovan’s home.

She closed the door behind her and shivered. Inside the house it felt like a glacier had settled there. Her breath came in small wisps of heated air that warmed her face as she walked.

In the kitchen she looked around. Some dishes still littered the sink. An empty box of spaghetti stood as testament to the dinner Sister Mary had never finished.

Her last meal, thought Lauren. All because of me.

She pushed through the wooden swing door separating the kitchen from the rest of the house. It felt warmer in the dining room. Lauren peered into the china cabinet and saw an old set of dishes. Bone china? She thought it looked so, but she wasn’t there to appraise Sister Donovan’s estate.

She moved beyond the dining room and into the living room. A small television set and VCR sat on a low shelf at one corner of the room. A couch and armchair, both in a blue gingham pattern, occupied the majority of the room. She could see a stack of magazines in a small tray between the two pieces of furniture.

She must have had an office somewhere.

Lauren veered toward the hallway and found herself retracing the steps she’d taken the other night. A weird sense of dreadful deja vu sprung up over her. She felt her heartbeat increase. Her breathing came in short rapid gasps.

Calm down, she told herself. That was then. This was now.

Find the journals.

Find the journals.

Her breathing slowed. Steeled now, she pressed on into the bedroom. The oxygen tank sat close to the bed. Pictures on the walls showed Sister Donovan in a wide array of locales. Most of the pictures she stood smiling with what looked like native peoples. None of the framed photos had captions, but Lauren guessed some showed regions in Africa, South America, and Southeast Asia.

Quite the traveler.

The other night, Sister Donovan had started to say something when she’d been killed. Had she been alluding to some reservoir of information that would help Lauren now?

She looked around the bedroom. Aside from the bed, there was a bureau with a big mirror. A stack of religious texts sat on top. A few more magazines lay by the bed.

But otherwise…nothing.

Lauren got down on her hands and knees. She lifted the skirt of the bed and glanced under. It seemed even darker under there.

Should she turn on a light?

Someone might see it and wonder who was inside. Lauren doubted news of Sister Donovan’s death had reached many people in the neighborhood, but she didn’t want to chance someone calling the police.

Her eyes had adjusted pretty well anyway. And the streetlight in front of the house sent some of its light into the house. Not much, but enough to make out things.

Lauren went back to the kitchen and found a flashlight in one of the drawers. She headed back to the bedroom and opened the closet door.

She switched the flashlight on and instantly a beam of yellow cut into the swath of dark. Mounds of books met Lauren’s eyes. Clothes on hangers draped over the stacks.

It must be here, she thought.

Again she got down on her knees and began going through the piles. Most of it was a substantial collection of science fiction novels. Apparently, Sister Donovan had been quite a fan. Lauren smiled. It made her feel closer to the old nun knowing that she’d been human as well as divine.

Behind her, at the entrance of the closet, a pile of books began to form a mound. Lauren kept passing the books out over her shoulder. The closet seemed much deeper than she’d originally estimated. The more books she got through, the more stacks appeared before her.

Until at last, she saw wall.

How many books did she have time to read, thought Lauren. There must be at least two thousand here.

Her hands touched cool plaster. The back of the closet. She shone the flashlight at the side walls and pressed into them trying to find some sort of cubbyhole or secret panel.

Nothing.

She leaned back on her haunches and sighed. Where would it be?

She shivered, feeling the cold of the house. She hoped Steve and Dr. Kwon had their eyes on that Darius fellow. The last thing she wanted to think about was him showing up here right now.

Put it out of your mind!

A creak from somewhere else in the house startled her. She jumped and the flashlight dropped, hitting the floor of the closet with a bang. The light vanished.

Darkness swallowed the closet again.

Lauren sat very still. Her ears strained against the heavy silence, probing, trying to find another sound.

Was someone there with her?

Steve?

She frowned. No. He’d be busy with Kwon.

Lauren drew the small gun he’d given her earlier. Ever so quietly, she pulled back on the top of the gun, chambering a round. Each tiny click and clack made her hold her breath.

Off came the safety.

She aimed the gun at the closet opening.

Listening.

Maybe it was him.

Maybe he’d eluded Steve and Kwon.

Gotten away.

And had only one thing on his mind.

Lauren.

Her thighs burned from squatting. The gun, small though it was, began to feel heavy in her hands. She wanted to put it down. She wanted to slump against the cool wall and rest for a moment.

But fear wouldn’t let her.

The closet grew colder.

Lauren began praying. In her head she began reciting every prayer she’d ever known. Over and over again.

The silence hung heavy.

Suffocating.

She wanted to draw a deep breath. She wanted to stand. To move. Adrenaline had flooded her system and she felt jumpy.

Stay still!

A thought occurred to her then. The sound the flashlight had made when it struck the wooden floor.

Bang.

Not a dull thud.

Not the sound she would have expected.

Bang.

Almost as if -

Her eyebrows jumped. Maybe?

There seemed to be no noise coming from the house. Maybe the old home was settling. Noises in old homes were common, even if for no real reason.

She smiled. No one was there.

She lowered the gun.

Slid the safety back on.

And set it down to her left.

Lauren turned back around to face the rear of the closet. Her fingers found the flashlight. She tried the switch.

Yellow light bit back into the dark. She sighed. Good, the bulb hadn’t broken at all. The switch must have simply gotten hit when it fell.

Lauren shone the light on the floor.

There!

She saw a cut in the floorboards. It made a square almost a foot and a half long by a foot wide. She took out her penknife and opened the blade.

It fit into the tiny opening and Lauren pried it back.

The floorboard came up.

And she saw them.

A series of black leather journals shrouded in plastic wrap to protect them. She removed the package; there must have been ten of them in total.

There were no marks on the cover. Lauren carefully slid them out of the plastic and then unfolded her legs, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the closet.

For some reason, she felt better about reading them in there than out in the open.

Did she feel safer there with the clothes tickling her head? Almost like being a little kid and hiding in the clothes racks at the department store again, she decided.

She took up the flashlight and opened the first journal. The light showed old yellowed paper, crinkling at the edges. On the pages, deep black ink flowed in cursive writing.

On the first page, she read:

A study of the minions of evil by Graham Westerly.

August 1939

Lauren flipped through the pages. His writing was tough to read until she’d accustomed her eyes to its massive loops and swirls. She could tell he’d been artistic as well judging from how he wrote.

But the first journal failed to produce anything interesting with regards to the Soul Eater. There was no mention of him at all. And it wasn’t until Lauren had pored through nine of the journals that she finally found it.

There on the final pages of the tenth journal that had been started in 1947, she found what she’d been seeking.

Few of the Devil’s children are as fearful as the Soul Eater.

For years, I could not fathom its purpose. I was only able to

trace its nefarious deeds back through the annals of history.

It seemed its existence was rumored only in whispered legends,

and yet, I somehow knew it was much more. Little did I realize

the truly awesome power with which its Dark Lord bequeathed it.

In truth, the Soul Eater is a more a demon than man — and yet it

may assume the guise of a man as easily as we draw a breath.

Indeed, it is by this form that the Soul Eater accomplishes his

task. For as a man he can walk among the peoples of earth

with no fear of discovery.

He is the Devil's emissary — the primary instrument for his

resurrection.

Lauren looked up from the journal and felt cold fear wash over her. My God, she thought, how will we be able to stop this? She took a breath and kept reading.

The Soul Eater is responsible for collecting evil, for it is through

the evil of others that he, the Devil, lives and lives best.

The words echoed inside her head. Sister Donovan’s last words. Here they were, in Graham Westerly’s own hand.

The Soul Eater steals the souls of those who are most evil

within our society. For years I felt confounded by this theory.

It was only after much research that I learned that the Devil’s

power was scattered on Earth by God as a way of keeping the

Dark Lord from ever coming onto this plane. Unable to

manifest himself here, the Devil languished long in the

netherworld, constantly trying but finding no suitable portal of

evil through which he could enter our world.

So he created the Soul Eater. He sent this demon to our plane

with the purpose of harvesting the souls of the most evil. The Soul Eater gathers these souls. And if he is able to gather enough of them,

he will be able to open a portal to Hell and enable Satan to enter a physical body here on Earth.

I know not how the resurrection would occur. Nor do I know

how many evil souls must be gathered for the resurrection to

occur. I know the Soul Eater has wandered our plane for

millennia. Always at work. Always gathering. Perhaps he

keeps these evil souls within him, but I think not. I think he

must have some means to contain them — be it natural or not.

In the guise of a man, the Soul Eater may be reasonably assumed

to be vulnerable to those things that all men are. In his true form,

however, the Soul Eater would be almost impossible to vanquish.

Of all that I have encountered, none has disturbed me as much as

The revelation that Satan is actively trying to gain access to our

World. I believe that if the Soul Eater were successful, his

Master would be impossible to banish again.

Lauren slumped back against the wall. Her breathing came in fast gulps. This is it, she thought. He’s trying to bring the Devil here.

To Boston.

I’ve got to tell Steve.

She glanced back at the journal. The next few entries scared her even more.

Chapter Twenty

19 March 1947

Few die without leaving some indication of how they have shuffled off this mortal coil. And yet, the victims of the Soul Eater bear no indication of the manner of their death. It was by this means and this means alone that I was able to first pick up the trail of the demon.

I heard of a mysterious rash of deaths in Rio de Janeiro in early March. Four victims, all died without any signs of their death. They simply ceased to live. I’d studied the Soul Eater — scant though the information was — long enough to know his peculiar calling card.

I flew to Rio on two days previous, determined to find and kill the demon if I could.

21 March

Another body has turned up bearing no signs of death. The victim was well known to the police — suspected in over two dozen murders. Evil apparently found a home within him and thus he drew the demon without even knowing it.

This latest body was discovered roughly twenty miles to the north of Rio.

He is moving.

And I am on his trail.

29 March

Is there any time in our lives when we forsake logic in favor of intuition? I know not what draws me out of Brazil now. But I feel it deep in my soul that my quarry has left the country — his work here most likely done. But where will he go next? If he is wandering South America looking for evil, I must make certain assumptions and pray they are right.

My gut tells me he will head for either French Guyana or Venezuela next. One of my guides has secured a small plane and we fly today into a small town named Curanya to see if I am right.

4 April

Curanya turned out to be wrong. As soon as we touched down, I knew he would not be there. I would have thought such a port city would certainly hold some allure with its bands of rogues wandering the docks.

I was wrong.

We fly to Caracas.

12 April

Two bodies have turned up. A rapist I am told and a suspected child molester. Both of them have ceased their evil in this world, but is that evil gone now, or merely pooling in some unholy reservoir of hatred?

And where does he keep it? How does he transport these evil souls? He must have some extraordinary means to convey them, but I’m at a loss to determine how.

Sent a letter home to Margaret. I miss her so. But I would not wish her here. The danger is too great. Hunting demons is better left to those of us too foolish to know any better.

21 April

No news for days and then a corpse outside the city this morning. I got a chance to examine the body myself, granted by the county examiner who allowed me a few seconds with the dead man in exchange for some much needed supplemental income.

Touching the corpse, I half expected him to wake up and speak to me, such was the state of health he radiated. And yet, dead. Surely if the pilot is removed, the vessel will no longer function. Such is the case for those who meet this demon.

Is he moving again? I fear it so.

I have spoken to the locals who tell me of a place one hundred miles outside of the capital. It is a place they say reeks of evil. An old temple dedicated to the gods of the dead. A place of sacrifice and slaughter so many years back.

I feel a pull to this place and fear I must follow it. The journey is hard, through miles of uncharted jungle. Still, we have managed to find a guide who says he knows the way. Whether he does or not remains to be seen. There are many in this part of the world who would simply say so and then rob or kill you at first chance.

And to think, I used to fear the demon only.

25 April

The journey has been truly horrendous. If this be the route to hell it is paved with peril at every instance. Pervez, my loyal companion, took ill with dysentery on the first night of our journey, forcing us to pitch camp at half the distance we had wished to cover. Our guide, however, proved useful in procuring certain medicinal plants which have enabled Pervez to regain his strength in the days since the initial onslaught.

We walked ten miles the next day, each of us hacking through tube vines, reeds, and Savannah grasses with our machetes. I’m sure the chink chink chink sounds carried further than we could have known. I dislike the idea of the jungle knowing we are coming.

27 April

We met a small band of Puchito Indians who live in the jungle and do quite well of it apparently. They stand a good foot shorter than a normal man, their brown skin painted with white stripes. Their heads are shaved save for the shaman who wears a mop top of black coarse hair. We enjoyed a meal at their village, whereupon the shaman appeared before me and squatted at my feet. Without a word, he simply looked at me and then cast a pile of chicken bones on the ground. His spindly fingers probed each one, clucking off a succession of strange noises. He then spoke quickly to our guide who told me he saw death in my future. Furthermore, we were then asked to leave the village immediately for fear that the death would come for them as well.

Such a forecast does not sit altogether well with me. I must be honest. We are in a part of the world where the line between superstition and reality is hard to discern. And given that I am tracking a demon in the employ of Satan himself, the prognosis has left me concerned.

But I will persevere.

1 May

The temperature in the jungle is a humid ninety degrees constantly. Rain soaks us on a daily basis and I have taken to following the cues of our guide who wears one set of clothes throughout the day which are always wet. At night he changes his clothes — this set is dry and protected from the elements by being wrapped in a cloth bag that is then placed in a haversack.

I was doubtful it would work, but to my delight it does. And I enjoy sleeping in dry clothes much more than wet ones.

We have drawn closer to our destination. All told we have traveled half the distance. Not as fast as I would like, but the jungle grows so thick in places we are forced to cut around for hundreds of yards sometimes.

4 May

Interspersed with the heat and humidity, we have begun feeling strange cold winds at night. Our guide has also become much more apprehensive. He prays constantly. Not just to Jesus, either. I have seen him offer up small pieces of our meals to some unknown benefactor perhaps. I hope his gods are strong. They will need to be.

6 May

Pervez is ill again. He runs a high fever that has left him delusional. And even the medicinal plants our guide gathers will do him no good. I fear he may die if the fever does not break soon. He drifts in and out of a stupor, calling out “Diablo” over and over again.

My own fear is rising as well. I pray God grants me the strength to see this mission through. Else I fear we shall all be suffering.

8 May

Pervez died during the night last. His hand went cold in mine as a sharp strong gale blew into our camp. The wind was so fierce it scattered our fire. Pervez slid away from us, embraced by death. I pray the Lord take him into his blessed house and keep him well.

We buried him by the foot of a hill, marked by a grove of trees. We prayed over his grave for some time and then marched on.

I am now alone with the guide.

Loneliness is constant.

10 May

Our progress has been swift these past two days. We crossed a raging river, flush with mountain snow come down from afar. Haritu the guide says we will be at the temple within three days if we are able to continue our current pace.

I wish his news cheered me. But it does not. As we have grown closer to the temple, something very tangible seems to be haunting us in this jungle. I have felt eyes on us. I have heard voices. Whispers. And the cold winds that are strangely out of place here sweep in on us at the weirdest times. Once while I prayed in the morning and just after we had settled down to sleep. That time, a particularly strong gust tossed a blazing log out of the fire circle. Haritu had to quickly stomp it out or else it would have turned the jungle into an inferno.

11 May

Haritu is having second thoughts. I can see the fear growing in him and I am a poor choice for stirring any reservoir of courage he might have. For I feel my own bravery wavering in the face of reaching our destination soon.

I want nothing more than to turn around and head back to Caracas. I want to go home and see my beloved Margaret again.

But I cannot. God has directed me here. I feel compelled to see this through to the end.

Whatever end that may entail.

12 May

I have seen the temple.

Haritu guided us to the edge of the clearing that stands before the overgrown walls. Perhaps I was expecting something grander in size. But it is little more than a mausoleum-sized artifice carved out of the rock of the side of a mountain. It overlooks some type of small river that runs colder than any water we have crossed so far.

Haritu would not permit me to drink from the river and I’m glad he forbade it. The temple is a gray granite pockmarked with bizarre script that is worn away in places. Jungle vines have overtaken the majority of the place so that it is very difficult to see unless you look at it directly.

I know what I must do now, but I am loathe to do it. Already, the sun dips in the sky and the cold winds have returned to plague us again. Haritu whimpers quite a bit. I have seen much fear in my life; I have seen it play across the faces of man and beast alike, but Haritu’s fear is so overwhelming, I fear he may run away and leave me here alone.

I pray I am wrong.

13 May

I was not.

Haritu has vanished and I am left on my own. Part of me wonders if he truly ran back to the world or whether the jungle simply took him. I slept fitfully last night, my head filled with strange dreams. I woke once hearing a series of screams that seemed to drift all about the jungle. Are they spirits of those killed by the demon? I feel haunted by a presence lurking in the jungle and yet I can explain nothing about it.

I’m sure this sounds like so much silliness, but even as I write this, I feel compelled to stop often and look up. I’m certain I will see someone looking at me, but I do not.

Dawn arrived today with a heavy gust of cold wind. I feel like I am touching the world of death here. I shiver and sweat at the same time.

Does the demon know I am on his trail? Does he rest in that temple even as I write these words?

Is he waiting for me?

Perhaps I will go right now and see.

Perhaps tomorrow.

14 May

I will go today. This will be my last journal entry until I return. I shall leave my belongings outside the temple in case something should happen to me inside. I will take only my revolver, knife, crucifix, holy water and bible. I don’t know how else to combat an emissary of Satan. I pray these tools will be enough.

It has grown warmer and the cold winds have ceased.

Does he know I am coming today?

I miss Margaret. I love her so.

God keep me safe. God keep us all safe.

The journal ended there.

Lauren let her arms fall by her side. She felt exhausted.

And absolutely terrified.

If Graham Westerly was unable to kill him, she thought, how in God’s name are we supposed to succeed?

Chapter Twenty-One

Curran switched off the eleven o’clock news and leaned back into the deep cushions of his sofa. Tonight had not gone the way he’d wanted it to. By the time he picked up Kwon and they’d finally managed to part the traffic and get themselves back down into position on Charles Street, Darius had already closed up shop for the night.

Kwon had wanted to go to Darius’ house and keep watch from there, but Curran had said no. All they had at this point was…well, nothing. Sure, Lauren had identified him as the guy she’d seen stalking her. But that was all they had. And if Darius spotted Curran, he could either disappear entirely or make Curran’s life hellish by claiming the homicide detective was harassing him for no reason.

Better, Curran suggested, that they have some type of proof to go on first.

That had been before Lauren’s phone call.

The way she sounded on the telephone, the nervous tone to her voice, Curran knew she’d found the information they were looking for. When she told him about it, Curran felt his inside go cold. The idea that the serial killer he’d been stalking for so many years was truly attempting to do something incredibly evil beyond all his expectations shook him hard.

Maybe deep down he’d known someone as skilled as the Soul Eater could only have the most foul of purposes for existing. Maybe the way he left the dead over the years had almost conditioned Curran for news like this. And even as many times as he’d privately denied the possibility, the way he felt when she uttered those words was more of a sickening feeling of having been right all along.

The dreaded ‘I told you so’ voice spoke up from his instinct.

Lauren had phoned from her friend’s house in Brighton. Curran felt good about her being there — he considered her safe from the Soul Eater.

At least for now.

No telling what this guy will do once we start coming for him, he thought.

But what to do now?

He sighed. The faint yellow glow from the floor lamp threw dim light all over the room. Curran liked keeping the lights on low, preferring soft subdued light to the harsh brilliance of fluorescent bulbs. Especially on a night like this when the cold November winds howled outside his windows. The dim light felt warm. And Curran had purposefully set his thermostat higher tonight. He could hear the creaks and pings of his radiator pipes pushing heat into all parts of the house.

Curran let his eyes close.

All things pointed at Darius as being involved somehow with the Soul Eater. Lauren told him the Soul Eater assumed the guise of a man. That meant in reality, Darius was something else.

A demon, she’d said.

Curran tried to wrack his mind for images of what a demon actually looked like. Did they have wings? Could they fly? What about horns? Scaly skin? A pointy tail?

He almost made himself laugh. The truth was probably a lot more terrifying than that.

And I’ve got to deal with it.

Nifty.

Lauren said there wasn’t much in the way of being able to take this guy down. He might fall to bullets when disguised as a man. But she’d quickly countered that by saying the last guy who tried had disappeared.

That made Curran feel even better.

A small part of him still privately wished this would simply turn out to be a lunatic who’d gotten his head around some old legend he’d once heard of. The killer had simply chosen to become this Soul Eater. Maybe he truly believed it, but that wouldn’t make him a demon.

And it would mean Curran could take him down legally and without having to resort to supernatural defenses — of which Curran was completely naive.

Proof, he thought. That’s what I need. Something that will connect Darius one hundred percent. Even if it’s only one hundred percent in my mind.

Because something still held him back. That tiny fragment of logic that had swollen in size after his faith had been so thoroughly destroyed by the pedophile priest, demanded its due.

But even Curran couldn’t justify everything logically. Too many strange occurrences had transpired. Too much weird stuff.

Spooky was more like it.

His eyes felt heavy. He needed sleep.

He stabbed out the quickly dying cigarette butt into the ashtray next to his favorite armchair. I ought to drop this habit, too.

Tomorrow, he decided. Maybe tomorrow he’d go and discuss things with his Captain. Get some advice. The craggy old bastard, a police vet of almost thirty years, he’d know what to do with something like this.

Either that or he’ll order me to get a psyche profile.

Curran padded into his bedroom and slid under the covers. He lay on his back, the way he always did when he first went to sleep. His hands folded across his chest, timing the rise and fall of his respirations. Tongue tip behind his upper teeth. This was the way he’d once read Soviet special forces used to sleep right before hey embarked on a mission. Curran had tried it and found it worked wonders for him.

His conscious mind began shutting down. The buzz of the workday slowed and the replay images of everything he’d seen during the previous fourteen hours faded to black. Small patterns appeared behind his eyelids and Curran felt his body begin to grow heavy, like it was sinking into the mattress itself.

He fell asleep.

When the first images zipped across his mind, his conscious self simply chalked it up as a dream.

But he knew better.

Darius’ face loomed before him. The quiet and mocking smile, brilliant white teeth, the salt-and-pepper hair.

“So you think you know me?”

The voice echoed inside his head. To anyone watching Curran while he slept, they would have simply assumed he’d entered REM sleep by the fast action of his eyes beneath their lids.

But Curran wasn’t dreaming.

Darius regarded him. “You’ve spent years of your life tracking me, haven’t you? And it must seem like such an eternity. All those cities. All those bodies. And yet you never figured it out.” He smiled again.

Curran wanted to talk to him. But he found he had no voice here in this limbo-like existence. Darius laughed. “You know, come tomorrow, part of you will argue this is simply a dream. That it’s simply some type of mental conjuration you’ve built up by being so involved with this case for so many years. The inevitable result, as it were, of your rather obsessive compulsive personality.”

Darius’ disembodied face zoomed closer. His voice grew soft. “But you’ll know better. Won’t you? You’ll know deep down inside that we did really communicate tonight. And my presence only serves to confirm that which you are so unsure about."

He backed off. “Your friend.” His eyes closed. “Lauren. She’s fascinating. Have you ever known someone who could be so ruined by evil and yet emerge so wonderfully clean and good?”

He laughed. “I have walked this Earth for thousands upon thousands of years and never seen such an example of good. In truth, I am disgusted by it. But there is reason enough for such a woman to exist. One which will become obvious to you soon enough.”

Curran’s mind fought to speak. Slowly, painfully, he squeezed out the words: “Leave…her…alone!”

Darius’ laugh filled his head. “You really care for this woman, don’t you, detective? How utterly amusing. What is she to you? Have you found a woman who can finally stand your presence?”

His head zipped around the ethereal air in Curran’s mind. “You know how long I’ve watched you, Curran? You know how long? Ever since you first became aware of me. No, not since you learned it was really me as the man Darius. But ever since you started investigating the bodies I left behind. I’ve watched. Waited. And when my travels eventually directed me here to this pathetic town in which you’ve tried so hard to reconstruct a life, I felt joyous. At last. I knew we would meet. It was inevitable.”

Curran’s mind swam against the tide of images rushing at him. His arms felt like leaden weights had been poured into them.

Must…fight.

“It’s no use trying to do that,” said Darius. “You’re well outmatched in this arena. Of course, that’s what happens when your faith suffers as yours has. When you only rely on your conscious mind — when your only tool is logic — your only reward is a mere fraction of reality.”

Take me instead.

Darius regarded him. “You? You?” He laughed. “A silly suggestion at best and a stupid one at worst. You have no idea what purpose she plays in all of this. But you will. And you could never take her place. You’re two different people. Each one with their own destiny.” Darius’ face zoomed close again. “Would you like a glimpse of your own destiny, Curran? Would you?”

Before he could think about answering, Darius’ face changed. Gone were the white teeth and brilliant smile. In their place, long yellow fangs dripping with bloody gore. Long streaks of coarse black hair streamed out of a thorny skull, surrounded by greenish blackish skin that undulated in gross tidal waves of musculature.

Curran felt his stomach heave.

A new voice spoke now. “You see? While you’ve imagined me as one thing, you’ve been hunting another. And now that you know, it’s too late for you to do anything. And yet you still haven’t seen the end of this.”

The demon pulled back and Curran could see the rest of its body. Two arms that hung down close to its three-toed feet dangled like lethal pendulums, each topped with six claws that scraped across the floor of Curran’s skull.

It sounded like fingernails down the chalkboard.

“When I come for you, Curran, it will not be the same death as the others. You I will take the greatest joy in destroying. I will feast on you like I have not quenched my hunger in eons. Your flesh will be my delicacy. Your blood my sweet nectar and I will drink you down with an unyielding thirst. And you will feel every exquisite agonizing sensation as it pulses along your nerve endings.”

Darius morphed back once more into human. “You will sleep now. Come morning you may find you have some memory of this but you will fight it. You will insist that it is just your imagination working hard to process everything you’ve seen and learned.”

He laughed one last time. “Or maybe, just maybe, you will be brave enough to let your instincts decide your destiny this once. Are you that brave, Curran? Are you brave enough to come for me when every reflex you own screams at you to run and hide?”

He smirked. “Sleep now. Our time together will come soon enough. And I am looking forward to it. Very much.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Curran woke the next morning feeling like his head had been used for soccer practice. An unending series of tidal throbs rocked and bucked his senses. He tried to eat breakfast and promptly puked it back up. Bucking his usual trend, he shot down four migraine headache pills, bolted back a half can of Pepsi and then sucked down two cigarettes in short order.

Remarkably, his treatment held. And soon enough the pulsing pain had subsided.

What the hell happened to me last night?

He had vague memories. And somehow he knew Darius figured into it. But not just another weird dream. Not this time. This time something very unusual had happened.

The answer hit him at about the same time as his conscious mind realized the same thing. Darius had opened some sort of link with him.

Great, now he had a telepathic demon haunting him.

If things get any better, he thought, I’ll just die from happiness.

He called Kwon. His friend answered on the fourth ring and Curran could tell he’d woken him up.

“What?”

“I need a favor.”

“I do any more favors for you, Curran, and I’ll be dead. You realize that?”

“It’s an easy favor.”

Kwon sniffed and cleared his throat. “Famous last words. What the hell time is it?”

“Seven.”

“Sick. You are a sick bastard. I haven’t even had a proper cup of coffee yet and here you are ringing me up for favors.” He sighed.

“Can you sit on top of our new friend for a while today?”

“What — you got a hot date?”

Curran smiled. Right. Not this time. “I’ve got some things to do.”

“Oh sure and I’ll just set the fridge down at the office to freeze so none of my corpses start to thaw and stink the joint up. How’d that be?”

“I need someone on Darius all day. I need to know where he is at all times.”

“Why?”

“It’s probably better if you don’t ask.”

Kwon paused as if debating whether to do so anyway. Curran bit his lip. Not now, pal, he pleaded. Just do this one thing for me.

Kwon sighed. “Yeah. Okay. I can park down at his store. That be okay?”

“Great. Call me on the cell if he leaves there, okay?”

“Yeah. When you need me down there?”

“Sooner the better. Parking fills up fast on Beacon Hill and I want you in an advantageous position.”

“My definition of an advantageous position is being the only man in a room filled with uninhibited nurses.”

Curran chuckled and his head throbbed vaguely. “Think warm thoughts, just keep your eyes on Darius.”

He hung up and got out the White Pages. It couldn’t be this easy, he thought, could it? Would a demon really have his address listed?

But there it was. Right in the phone book. Curran looked at the simple listing and frowned. The reality of his decision burned itself into his brain as he stood there memorizing the address.

That’s it then, he thought.

He slammed the book shut, grabbed his badge, gun, and keys and walked out of his house.

He found it easily enough.

Chestnut Hill’s homes ranged from sprawling old mansions to newer developments reminiscent of 1970s architecture styles. Curran called it California kitsch. He wound his way off route 9 west and then onto Sleigh Street. At the intersection of Maple and Sleigh, he banked left and followed it around into a small cul de sac.

Curran slowed to a stop.

So this is it.

The house itself looked about a hundred years old. Red and gray paint flaked off in large pieces, littering the crab grass lawn. Wooden gutters that looked rotten from where he sat, jutted out of the house at odd angles. Once black shutters weathered into a dull battleship gray hung slightly askew. A few clapboards in the front hosted a zigzagging fault line.

For Chestnut Hill, and given the rest of the neighborhood, the house stuck out like a sore thumb. But even if it looked like hell cosmetically, Curran knew it was a prized piece of real estate.

Still, thought Curran, seems odd an antiques dealer doesn’t have a better-looking place. Then again, maybe the Soul Eater, if he was truly that, didn’t want the house to look too inviting.

He could make out the silver Saab parked in the driveway. And again, he thought about how weird it was to imagine a supernatural creature needing to drive around in a car of all things.

Curran cracked the window, letting a slight breeze fill the car. He adjusted the seat so he was reclined somewhat, able to see, but not be seen. If anyone passed by he would look like he was just taking a nap. Perhaps he was waiting for someone.

Anything but a cop.

And anything but someone trying to stop the resurrection of Satan.

Steve, he thought, your life has definitely gotten weird.

He thought about Lauren.

The way his heart ached every time he thought about her only served to reinforce the notion that he liked her a helluva lot more than he wanted himself to. He frowned. It couldn’t work. She was going to be a nun of all things. And he was still nursing old wounds that had fractured his faith. Possibly forever.

I wonder what Darius is doing, he thought. The dashboard clock read seven-fifty. Maybe he’s in there plotting his next victim. Maybe he’s even thinking about killing me.

Curran felt his insides go cold.

Deja vu? Something about that thought felt familiar.

What happened last night?

Curran patted his back right hip and felt the bulge of his pistol. It gave him some comfort.

But only a little.

He would have liked to kick the door down and go in with guns blazing. Would bullets kill the Soul Eater? Curran didn’t know but he sure would have enjoyed testing the theory out.

But he was a good cop.

And part of him — a fairly large part if he felt like being honest — still wasn’t convinced about the Soul Eater stuff.

Curran had seen enough psycho cases in his time to know that people could get some very strange ideas in their heads. That fantasy could easily become reality. Maybe Darius was one of them. Cool and calm one minute, then a seething volcano of violence in the next.

Maybe he heard voices in his head.

Maybe he thought the Devil spoke to him.

Curran frowned. I hear voices in my head.

Maybe the Devil’s talking to me, too.

The problem with this whole thing, he decided, is that there wasn’t one shred of concrete freaking proof. All they were going on was faith.

And Curran was Mr. Faithless.

Another breeze filled the car. This time cooler.

Much cooler.

Cold.

The hairs along Curran’s forearms stood up.

He shivered.

Faith.

Did he believe?

Did he want to believe?

For Lauren’s sake he did.

But for his own sake…

That was another question.

How did Lauren buy into this stuff so easily, he wondered.

He felt certain that her upbringing, the experiences of her teen years with a psychopathic brother played a large role in the woman she was now. But Curran knew plenty of priests and nuns who would have scoffed at the idea of the Devil being resurrected by an antique dealer who drove a silver Saab.

What made Lauren different?

And what made her so appealing? So very appealing?

Curran glanced at his watch. Eight o’clock.

Maybe demons need rest.

He almost laughed out loud. And then he frowned. Was he actually trying to rationalize this stuff now?

What a wishy-washy bastard I am, he thought with a wry grin.

He just couldn’t decide one way or the other if he believed. Cold breezes not withstanding. But even as he fought the contradictions swirling about inside his mind, a small part of him felt certain that within a short time Curran would know, one way or the other, if what was happening in the house was a load of bullcrap.

Or terribly real.

Ten minutes later, the front door opened.

And Darius emerged. He was dressed in a charcoal suit complete with herringbone ankle-length overcoat. Probably no human bone buttons on that one, mused Curran.He ducked.

Darius’ eyes swept over the street. Curran wasn’t hidden, but he wasn’t out in plain sight either, being a good hundred and fifty feet down the street. He was just another car. A friend of a neighbor over for a visit.

Darius locked his front door and then climbed into the Saab. A second later, Curran heard the engine roar as it turned over. Darius gunned it for almost twenty seconds before the motor slowed as he slipped it into drive and sped off down the street.

Away from Curran.

Curran punched Kwon’s number into the phone.

“Yeah?”

“He’s heading your way now. Just left.”

“Okay.” Kwon paused. “Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“Be real careful, man.”

Curran nodded, more to himself than Kwon. “Let me know when he arrives.”

Twenty minutes later, his phone buzzed. “Yeah?”

“Just rolled up.”

“Got it.”

Curran got out of the car, locked the doors, and wandered over to Darius’ house. At this time of day, he hoped there weren’t many people home in the neighborhood who might spot him lurking about. Even more, he hoped Darius was as reclusive as he believed.

He ignored the front door in favor of the more concealed back one.

He kneeled and examined the lock.

A simple deadbolt.

Curran slid out a slim black leather package full of picks and selected two of them for the job at hand. He paused. The he inserted the picks and began working the lock very carefully.

He felt the pins sliding into place.

First one.

Then another.

Until at last they were all properly positioned. Curran exerted enough force to turn the cylinder.

The bolt slid home with a solid thunk.

The door was now open.

Curran glanced around, suddenly feeling like a teenager about to be caught peeping into his neighbor’s windows or something.

The realization of what he was about to do suddenly washed over him.

He would no longer be the by-the-book cop people spoke about. He would cross the line, from law abiding to law breaking.

But if it was in the name of justice — even universal justice — could it be so wrong?

Curran wasn’t sure how the courts would feel about universal justice.

A cool breeze swept over him again.

The cold returned.

Along with the idea of Faith.

Believe.

Believe.

Believe.

Curran shivered, held fast by the cold surrounding him. He wanted to believe, he decided. He wanted to believe that the world truly was in danger. He wanted to believe Darius was the servant of the Devil here to set his master loose upon the innocent.

And standing there shivering, though morning sun beat down upon his shoulders, Curran finally gripped the doorknob.

He turned it.

Swung open the door.

Believe.

Took a step.

And then at last -

— crossed the threshold to the other side.

Chapter Twenty-Three

As soon as Curran entered, he closed the door quickly and leaned against it.

Breathing.

Listening.

He stayed absolutely still.

Did anyone see him come in? Were they calling the police right now? He didn’t want to lose his job again. He didn’t want to be fired for breaking the law.

He did want to put Darius away. Although he doubted if there was a cell that could hold him. And truthfully, Curran wanted to see him dead.

He glanced around the house, trying to decide what direction to proceed in. Old lessons from his FBI academy days in Quantico came back to him. Of course, those lessons were based on having obtained a proper search warrant. Breaking and entering, well, that was another story.

Probably not the best decision I ever made, he thought as his breathing returned to normal. But it’s definitely necessary.

Necessary because Curran still wasn’t sure if he could commit totally to the notion of supernatural influences unless he found some sort of hard evidence.

But he felt certain about one thing: that Darius was indeed the serial killer he’d been tracking for years. Darius was the reason for Curran’s plight. The reason for his termination at the FBI. And the countless deaths that had marred cities across the United States.

Curran wanted to stop it.

Soon.

Now?

He sighed. He’d accept the consequences of breaking into a suspect’s home, if there were any, at a later time.

For now, he had business to conduct.

Immediately to his left, a tall thin coat rack stood silently guarding the entranceway. Underfoot, a thin Persian carpet in muted blues and maroons ran from the doorway to an intersection of stairs and a hallway.

He walked toward the hallway. A tall table he thought might be cherry stood under an old silver-framed mirror. Atop the table, an assortment of unopened mail — mostly bills — awaited inspection.

Curran ignored them. He didn’t think incriminating evidence would be found opening Darius’ credit card statements. At least not yet.

He moved right down the hallway, investigating a sitting room with two high-backed chairs and enough shelves to make a small library. Curran scanned the titles on the bookshelf but found nothing relating to Satanism.

Not even a book of ghost stories, he thought frowning.

He sighed and moved on to the next room where he found a large roll top desk, recently oiled, and still shining in the dull afternoon light. Atop the desk was a Rolodex filled with names and numbers of fellow antiques dealers in cities across the world.

Should he copy the information down? He shook his head. It would take too long.

He’d been right at least, judging that the interior of the house would probably look a lot better than the outside. Darius obviously had a degree of understated taste. Quiet wealth masked lightly in the guise of old pieces of furniture no one but the experts would know were valuable pieces.

He frowned as the thought entered his mind. Would a demon — a real servant of the Devil — have need for such things as the very human trappings Curran had seen so far?

He came to the staircase and took the steps up, marveling at the intricate molding running along the baseboard and the delicate handspun spindles adorning the railing. The house had been built to stand the test of time. The higher ceilings confirmed it was about a hundred years old.

On the second floor, Curran found the master bedroom. A California king-sized bed hugged the far right corner of the room. Deep maroon sheets bunched up in tight piles on the mattress. Someone didn’t sleep very well last night, thought Curran.

Twenty-pound dumbbells lay in another corner, their black iron plates showing scars from repeated daily use. Otherwise, the room was Spartan. Polished hardwood floors seemed free of dust bunnies. Darius kept the place pretty clean.

Curran opened the closet and found an assortment of handmade Italian suits, the kind without any labels in them. Silk ties by the dozens hung in rows organized by decorating styles. Plaids on the right and stripes to the left with paisleys in between.

Rummaging in the back of the closet produced nothing of interest aside from a bunch of old boxes filled with back issues of antiques magazines.

Curran closed the closet door and sighed.

A search of the six-drawer oak bureau revealed nothing other than the fact that Darius wore boxer shorts.

Curran chewed his lower lip.

Damn.

The master bathroom revealed nothing exciting. Darius apparently took some measure of pride in his appearance judging by the volume of moisturizers and vitamin supplements housed in the medicine chest.

Curran checked the razor and found it a single blade type like the kind the old style barbers used to sharpen on the strips of leather.

The shower itself was immaculate. No buildup of curly public hairs or straighter head hairs clogged the drain. No soap scum marred the shower doors.

Guy’s a neat-freak, thought Curran.

In the second floor hallway he paused, looking toward another room that had the door closed. Another staircase lead up, probably to an attic.

Curran could either check out the room or head further upstairs.

Something inside of him said no. Curran suddenly felt a strong pull to return to the downstairs. Before he realized what was happening, he let himself get swept along with the pull and soon wandered into the kitchen downstairs.

Darius liked to cook.

Three garlands of garlic hung from a hook high on the wall. Expensive looking cast iron pots hug over a center island while the stove top had the look of a professional grill. Baskets of onions and potatoes pyramided up in the pantry along with walls of cookbooks.

Curran poked into the cabinets and under the sink but found nothing out of the ordinary.

He found the cellar door almost not knowing what he’s discovered.

It latched at the top and also at the bottom.

Curran undid the latches.

The clicks made a hollow sound that echoed loud across the kitchen, bouncing into other rooms.

A cool breeze swept over him again. Curran almost smiled. I guess, he thought, this is where I’m supposed to go.

He opened the door.

Darkness greeted him, swallowing up the light spilling down from the kitchen. Curran stepped down on to the top step.

And then closed the door behind him.

The darkness seemed absolute and he guessed Darius must have covered up the cellar windows to keep prying eyes from seeing what might be going on down here.

Curran noticed the cold breeze had disappeared.

He stepped down lower, feeling the hard cement wall with his right hand, hoping to find a light switch. The cement crumbled in places, breaking off and making small noises as it plummeted to the wooden steps, bounced and then hit the floor.

His eyes seemed to be adjusting, but to what? The darkness continued to remain impenetrable.

Unless Curran found a light switch soon, he’d never be able to see what was down here.

I should have left the door open, he thought, but then frowned. If Darius came home unexpectedly, the open door would let him know someone was in the house. Better to risk the darkness than Darius knowing he was here.

Curran sighed, wondering what was worse: being found out or being trapped down in the cellar with a potential demon worshipper.

He stepped down lower, at last feeling like he could make out some of the shapes in the basement. His feet touched the stone floor. Down here the air seemed cold and dry, just the way a cellar ought to feel.

Curran frowned. Where the hell was the light switch?

A noise to his left made him jump and almost yank his gun out until he realized it was the oil burner coming on to heat water. It stayed on and loud for a few minutes before mercifully turning off, plunging the cellar back into silence.

Curran held his hands above his head, looking for any strings dangling down from the ceiling that might be connected to a light bulb. His feet kicked something small over and there was a soft tinkle of broken glass.

Great, that was probably priceless, thought Curran.

He moved away from the staircase and tried keeping his back to the wall. There seemed to be too many cardboard boxes stacked against the wall for Curran to stay flush with it, but he tried anyway, still hoping to find a light.

After ten feet, he stopped, suddenly aware that he’d begun sweating profusely. Curran knew the effort of moving carefully and quietly was taking its toll on him.

Where was the light switch?

He paused, sucking in a deep breath of cool air, feeling some measure of strength come back to him. A thin sliver of light penetrated the darkness further to his left.

Curran guessed Darius must have been using dark cloth to shield the window. Curran would have loved pulling it all down so he could see what the hell he was doing, but that would be noticeable from outside in case Darius came home suddenly.

Not that Curran really expected Darius to show up unannounced. That’s why Kwon was sitting on him.

He moved further left. His goal was to make a complete circuit of the cellar, until he found the light switch. Barring that, he’d go back upstairs, open the door to the kitchen and maybe try to find a flashlight up there as well so he could come back and see what was what.

Given that the windows were blocked up, maybe there was something worth looking at down here.

Or at least he hoped there was.

He hit a corner, shifting suddenly again to the left and feeling his way with one hand low and one hand high looking for the light. More cardboard boxes barred his way and Curran had to mold his body to contour around them.

He kept moving.

His foot kicked what felt like a pile of stone dust, sending it flying up everywhere. Curran caught a whiff and sneezed hard and loud.

He froze.

Did he hear something?

Did someone hear him?

He waited almost five minutes before moving again. The stone dust had settled.

He reached another corner and began moving along the wall opposite the staircase. More boxes. More boxes.

Curran frowned. This guy must be living out of these things, he thought.

Another corner and Curran began to get worried. There was still no sign of a light switch anywhere. Obviously, Darius had chosen to position the stupid thing where he alone would know where to find it.

Curran reached the last corner and found himself back by the staircase. He slumped down to a sitting position, letting his hands slide down with him.

And scarcely believed it when his left hand found what felt like a switch by the foot of the stairs.

He shook his head. The switch seemed to jut out from the stair tread itself, close to the wall. No wonder he’d missed it the first time.

Curran took a breath, closed his eyes and switched it on.

Harsh light made the black of his eyelids go yellow. Curran turned to the wall and blinked a few times.

He grinned.

He could see at last.

He glanced down and saw the stairs themselves were painted black. The walls were painted black, too. In fact, everything was painted black.

No wonder his eyes hadn’t been able to make out all that much, even after adjusting to the darkness.

Curran turned and faced the middle of the room.

And froze.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Kwon hummed another bar of the Phil Collins song and then sighed. Some kind of morning. He wasn’t even trained in surveillance and here he was watching some goon who just might turn out to be a very bad demon dude.

There’d be a stack of bodies waiting for him when he finally got back to the lab. He smacked his lips and opened the bottle of water he’d bought earlier. It still tasted cool, helped by the fact that the floor of Kwon’s car was cooler than up at chest level. He switched the vents and threw some heat toward his feet.

Curran owes me big for this, he decided.

Crap, Curran already owed him huge.

Kwon smiled. Truth was, he would have done it for Steve regardless. Strange uptight straight-laced cop, but a good friend anyway. He just hoped his friend knew what he was doing. Kwon knew he was over at Darius’ pad right now, breaking and entering.

If someone found out, it would spell the end of Curran’s career, that was certain. He didn’t deserve another bad break.

He deserved some measure of happiness.

Like Lauren.

Kwon grinned. The way they looked at each other it was like two scared teenagers at their first dance. Each terrified of asking the other to head out on the floor. But they were both adults. He sighed. Who would have guessed they’d be brought together by the machinations of evil?

Strange the way the world worked some times.

God’s plans never were for mortal comprehension, he decided.

The song switched and he flipped the channel over to the news. For the tenth time since he’d arrived. Nothing had changed. He checked the clock. Almost nine. Sooner or later, he was going to need to take a leak.

But what about Darius?

Kwon glanced at the water bottle.

And frowned.

Well, he was almost through with it. He looked around. Crowds of people swarmed past his car. Sure, that’d look good. The chief medical examiner for the city of Boston gets a ticket for lewd and lascivious behavior for taking a piss into a water bottle during an unsanctioned stakeout.

So much for my career, too.

He popped a breath mint into his mouth. Something about sitting in a car always made him feel like road grunge had settled all over his body. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine how long he’d stay in the hot shower later on.

He snapped his eyes open.

Whoops. Almost fell asleep.

He’d have to be careful about that.

Well, he couldn’t be blamed. He wasn’t cut out for this stuff. Still, this was serious, he reminded himself. Keep it together.

He leaned back into the seat, pressing his spine outward until he heard the muffled pops that told him he’d cracked it nicely. He sighed and leaned forward, arching it in the other direction the way that hot yoga teacher had instructed him.

He grinned. They’d certainly created some new and exciting postures after that class.

He took another gulp of water and felt his bladder size increase.

Ugh.

Soon was coming sooner than later he thought.

Curran wasn’t quite sure what to make of the scene before him.

A huge red pentagram had been painted on the floor. He stooped and examined the red. Was it paint? It looked too red to be blood. If it had been, the dried blood would have been darker — probably almost brown.

He stood, almost refusing to enter the pentagram itself.

And standing in the center of it was the most unusual sight of all.

Some kind of huge vat.

Another sense of deja vu rolled over him. Somehow this all seemed vaguely familiar. From the dream the other night? Had he seen it beforehand?

The weird markings covering it suggested a jar of great age. Curran chewed his lower lip. So much for Darius not being involved in Satanism. He sighed. Still, whether any of this had any real effect still had yet to be seen.

Not that Curran really wanted to see if it was effective.

I wonder what’s inside that vat, he thought. He looked down at the pentagram again and tried to remember anything he’d ever read about real magic.

There hadn’t been much.

Hell with it, he decided. I’ve come this far. Can’t turn back now because of what’s drawn on the floor of some guy’s cellar.

He stepped into the pentagram.

If Kwon had been trying his damnedest to keep control over his bladder, he just about lost it entirely when the door to Darius’ shop opened and the man himself came out and locked the front door.

Kwon sat up.

“Oh crap.”

He watched Darius walk around the store, down the small alleyway that ran adjacent to it. Kwon cracked the window. Over the din of street noise, he heard the engine turn over.

“Crap.”

He picked up the cell phone and punched in Curran’s number.

Darius’ silver Saab appeared at the top of the alleyway. He looked down both sides of the street, the pulled out into the street. A second later, he gunned the engine and shot down the street.

In Kwon’s ear, a female operator informed him that the cellular customer he was trying to reach was unavailable or out of range.

Kwon slammed the phone down, cranked his engine and shot out into the traffic behind Darius.

Nothing happened.

Curran breathed out, suddenly aware that he’d been holding his breath.

He almost grinned. What did you expect? A bolt of lightning?

The vat was close. Inviting, almost. Curran bent down and ran his hands over the outside of it. It felt warm to the touch and the texture seemed like some of the old earthenware pots he’d once examined at a museum. Raised writing covered the outside of the vat. Flecks of black and red paint came away on his hand.

I wonder what language that is, he thought. Certainly it was none he recognized.

He turned his attention to the top of the vat.

And frowned.

A very modern-looking lid seemed to seal the vat off like a vacuum seal used to keep food or other perishable products from spoiling when exposed to the air.

Curran chewed his lip again. This time he found a small flap of skin and bit down, tasting a sudden draw of blood.

What was the lid keeping from spoiling?

Kwon pounded his hands on the steering wheel. Traffic was insane. Cars and trucks jostled each other in the bumper-to-bumper traffic jams.

But ahead of him, Darius’ Saab seemed to have no trouble negotiating the slipstream.

That’s not fair, thought Kwon. After all, the guy’s a demon.

He watched in horror as Darius pulled ahead and made a yellow light a second before it changed to red and trapped Kwon behind a minivan.

Kwon grabbed the cell phone and hit redial.

“Come on!”

Curran unclasped one side of the lid.

It came off with a sharp hissing sound.

Escaping air?

He frowned.

Sniffed.

Wha —?

He unclasped the other side.

A softer hiss of escaping air.

And then, Curran took the lid in both hands, surprised at how heavy it actually felt.

He lifted the lid off the vat.

Kwon could see him up ahead. He’d just made the entrance to route 9 down by Brookline Village. At this point, he’d reach Chestnut Hill in maybe ten minutes.

Not a lot of time.

I’ve got to do something, he thought.

Images of him slamming into Darius’ car filled his head. But what good would that do? Slow him down?

Maybe.

But if he recognized Kwon.

If he suspected anything.

He might kill me.

In his ear, the same female operator came on again.

Where the hell was Curran?

The smell slammed into him like a tidal wave.

Curran stumbled back.

He clamped down on his jaw reflexively to keep from puking his guts out.

Oh my God, he thought. What in heaven’s name is that?

He fell back against the wall.

It stunk like nothing he’d ever had the misfortune of smelling before. As if all the vomit and crap and piss and rotting corpses in the world had commingled together inside this earthen jar, aging and fermenting into one horrid putrid mass of the most foul-smelling goop on the planet.

Curran felt his gorge rising in the back of his throat.

I’ve got to get out of here, he thought.

Past the reservoir on their left-hand side, Darius and Kwon streaked down route 9. At this part of the road, it was almost flat out. Darius’ Saab drew out the distance between them even further.

Kwon jumped lanes, narrowly missing a Toyota with a very pissed off looking driver. Kwon shoved the gas pedal to the floor and felt the engine complain.

“Come on bitch!”

The car eased forward, slowly gnawing down the distance.

If he could just reach Darius’ car.

He had to try!

It was harder getting the lid back into place.

Curran had to take tiny breaths and each time he did, he felt like gagging, puking, and passing out.

He got the lid on.

Clasped one side of it.

Then the other.

He took another breath.

Gagged.

Fought back the rising tide of vomit.

Turned toward the cellar stairs and headed back up, careful to switch off the light first as he did so.

At the top of the stairs, he left the kitchen and headed back toward the door he’d come in through.

He stepped outside and into the cooler air.

He stumbled across the street, finally puking once into the gutter by his car, leaning there for a second, gulping air as sweat poured down his face.

He looked back at the house.

What had he just seen?

Lauren — she must be right, he thought finally.

Everything was true.

It had to be!

Numbly, he reached for his car door, slid inside and started the engine.

Kwon peeled off route 9.

He was just three cars away from Darius.

He tried the cell phone again.

Curran grabbed the phone. His head swam in disgust.

“Yeah?”

“Jesus Christ, where the hell are you?”

Kwon. He sounded terrified. “What’s the matter?”

“Where are you?”

“In my car. Outside Darius’ house.”

“Well shrink down because he just turned onto the street!”

Curran dove for the floor of his car. A second later he heard the Saab roll past, its engine still revving at high speed.

“What the hell happened?” Curran noticed he’d actually whispered.

“He came out and closed up the store. I tried to call you for the past twenty minutes. I kept getting that damned ‘out of range’ message. Where the hell were you?”

Curran sighed. “In his basement.”

“Figures. Signal must not have been able to penetrate.”

“Guess I got out of there just in time, huh?”

Kwon’s voice sounded strained. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think I like this aspect of police work very much.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

“But what was it?”

Curran frowned, the memory of heaving his guts out still tasted fresh. “I don’t know. All I do know is that it smelled like all the sewers of earth had run together and sat in that jar for years. I mean, it stunk like nothing I’ve ever smelled before.”

Lauren folded her hands. “We know that the Soul Eater’s purpose is to resurrect Satan. And he’s apparently been killing evil people for the last five years. Each of his victims has had no obvious sign of death. No physical things have been taken from them.”

“Nothing physical aside from green brains,” said Curran. “But what about something else?”

“What do you mean?”

“Suppose Darius is living up to his namesake. Suppose he really is eating the souls of his victims.”

“And then doing what with them?”

Curran shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe…he’s crapping them out?”

“God,” said Lauren. “Do you really think so?”

“All I can tell you is what I smelled. I wanted to puke my guts out as soon as the first whiff hit me.”

“Maybe that’s what it is, then,” said Lauren. “Or maybe he vomits the souls into the vat.”

“Is that possible?”

Lauren shrugged. “Is any of this possible, Steve? I don’t know. All I do know is that it seems to be happening regardless of whether we think it ought to be or not. Darius is working hard to complete his objective.”

“He can’t be finished yet, though,” said Curran.

“What makes you say that?”

“If he was finished, Satan would already be back. Wouldn’t he?”

“Good point.” Lauren steepled her fingers. “That means he’s got another victim on the back burner.”

“Maybe more than one,” said Curran. “We don’t know what the formula is, remember?”

“Right,” said Lauren. “I’ve got a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you think Darius knows you were at his house?”

Curran took a swig of water. “I tried to leave it exactly as I found it. But I can’t be sure I did given how I was feeling when I left. He’s lucky I didn’t lose my lunch all over some of his precious antiques.” Curran frowned, remembering. “Crap.”

“What?”

“The door. The damned door.” Curran shook his head. “I left it unlocked.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“Because I was trying to keep from yakking my guts out all over his house.” Curran sighed. “Couldn’t be helped. Maybe he’ll just write it off.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“No. I don’t. He’ll know.”

“And if he does know…” Lauren’s voice trailed off.

Curran nodded. “He’ll try to accelerate his schedule.”

“If he can.”

“Are you thinking he might not have any control over who he kills and when he does it?”

“Perhaps,” said Lauren. “Maybe Satan himself speaks to Darius and lets him know when to kill again.”

“Great,” said Curran. “I’ve heard of a lot of killers claiming the Devil made them do it. This is the first time I’ve actually been inclined to believe it.”

“But you see that gives us a little room to work with.”

“How so?”

“If Darius doesn’t kill until he’s commanded to, that means there is some kind of rhyme or reason to this resurrection business. It’s not just the idle musings of some deranged fool. Satan cannot return to this plane until certain requirements have been fulfilled.”

“Sounds like a college course,” said Curran with a grin.

She looked at him. “Glad to see your sense of humor survived the run in with the vat.”

“Me, too,” said Curran. “Do you think that vat is some kind of special device built especially for the purpose Darius seems to be using it for?”

“It could be,” said Lauren. “I’ve found no mention of it in anything the Church has written down. But then again, that doesn’t mean it couldn’t have been designed and made thousands of years before the Church.”

“You mean another religion?” She kept surprising him. He expected her to defend and promote the Catholic Church to the exclusion of everything else.

Lauren nodded. “It’s entirely possible. The Roman Catholic Church isn’t the only religion on the planet, nor is it as all-powerful as some believe.”

“This from a would-be nun,” said Curran. “Amazing.”

“It’s not amazing at all,” said Lauren. “It’s simply reality. There have been hundreds of other religions, thousands of other gods around before belief in Jesus Christ evolved. And most of those other religions have their own version of the Devil.”

“So maybe another religion devised this big jar for the purpose of vomiting the evil souls of people into it?”

“And then helping their version of the Devil come back to this world, yes.”

Curran finished his water. “Great.”

Lauren smiled. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking how if I’d known all those years ago what kind of bullcrap this case would have spelled out for me, I would have requested a transfer to an FBI SWAT team.”

“Isn’t that incredibly dangerous?”

Curran looked at her. “I’m trying to judge which one is worse: getting shot to death or messing around with Satan.”

“Tough choice,” said Lauren. “And even if you had known, would you really have chosen another path?”

“I might have.”

She grinned. “I think you would have stayed exactly where you were regardless of what the outcome would be.”

“You know me that well?”

“Getting to, yes.”

“Really.”

“Steve, you might think and say things like that, but you wouldn’t actually do it. You are one of the few men in this world that I know of who don’t actively try to steer clear of a challenge. You don’t necessarily rush at them head-on, but if you know what’s got to be done, you do it, regardless of the personal cost.”

“I wouldn’t say regardless,” said Curran. “Personal cost can be a real bitch to put up with.”

“I’m sure it is,” said Lauren. “But that still doesn’t take away from what I said. You know as well as I do that your path is what it is because you chose to follow it.”

“If that’s so, then by your definition, I chose to get fired by the FBI.”

“By virtue of pursuing Darius even when it became apparent you were getting nowhere. Yes.”

Curran shook his head. “I don’t know. I loved the FBI.”

“Did you really?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe a part of you loved the Bureau. It attracts people because of the prestige. But maybe there was an aspect you didn’t like at all. Maybe you knew deep down inside that you wouldn’t want to stay there much longer.”

“And what — the case became my excuse to leave by way of getting fired?”

Lauren nodded.

Curran looked at her. “That’s one helluva theory.”

“It might prove itself true, you never know.”

“And it might hold no water whatsoever.”

Lauren smiled. “Maybe.” She pointed. “Only you can decide whether it does or not.”

“You never mentioned you were some kind of pop psychology whiz kid.”

“Pet hobby of mine,” said Lauren. “Impressed?”

“I’d be more inclined to amazement if I wasn’t the guinea pig under the microscope.”

“Wow, that’s one incredible mixed metaphor.”

Curran shook his head. “Jeez, you’re an English teacher, too?”

Lauren waved the comment off. “What are we going to do next — now that we’ve got Darius possibly thinking we’re on to him?”

“I still don’t have any kind of evidence to do things the right way, as much as I’d like to.”

“I thought by-the-book had gone out the window.”

“It did earlier today,” said Curran. “That doesn’t mean I intend to make a habit out of it.”

“But you will if there’s no alternative.”

“Of course.” He didn’t feel comfortable doing it, but Darius had to be stopped. Legally or not.

“You know the best thing to do is to destroy that vat.”

“What — you mean break it?”

“Yes. But we’d also have to dispose of all the evil Darius has spent all these years gathering inside of it.”

“And how do we do that?”

Lauren frowned. “We could pour it down the drain?”

“Uh,” said Curran. “Part of me thinks Darius might find a way to have some sort of resurrection ceremony down at the sewage treatment facility. That wouldn’t be good.”

“We don’t have many other alternatives.”

“So if we break this vat and somehow dispose of the contents,” said Curran. “What’s to stop Darius from going off on another killing spree for the next decade.”

“You.”

“Me.”

Lauren nodded. “You can stop him.”

“I take it you’re not talking about putting him in jail.”

“No.”

“I didn’t know the Church sanctioned killing.”

“It doesn’t. And I don’t.”

“But you’ll make an exception in this case.”

“Considering how many innocent lives will be lost if the resurrection comes to pass, yes. I think anyone would be able to justify killing Darius.”

“Sure, They might. Only problem is that convincing people that Satan is really coming back might prove a little difficult.”

“Well, we can either not worry about it and deal with him, or we can let Darius continue with his scheme and people will see soon enough what kind of hell can be unleashed here on earth.”

Curran smirked. “You make a convincing argument.”

“I wish I didn’t have to.”

“Makes two of us,” said Curran.

“You’re worried though.”

“Damn straight. It’s my gun going bang at Darius, not yours. And even if that theory about me not really liking the FBI holds true, the same can’t be said about the Boston Police Department. I do like working there.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t think you do, Lauren. Believe me, I want Darius put away as bad as you do, but there are things that have got to be played down correctly, not by going off on some badly played out shoot ‘em up.”

“And if it comes down to putting a bullet into him?”

“I’ll shoot him if I have to, “said Curran. “Although I’m not sure how much good it’ll do. After all, he’s one of the Devil’s servants. Some sort of demon, right? You said he could only be hurt while in human form.”

“According to what we read in Westerly’s book, he can be.”

“What happens if we run into him as a demon?” An image he thought he’d seen before floated through his mind. Another fragment of the bad dream from the other night. He pushed it away.

“I’d rather not think about that right now.” She smiled. “So, we’ll destroy the vat?”

“Yeah,” said Curran. “I’m not crazy about pouring that gunk down the drain but I can’t think of anything else to do with it. Can you?”

“No.”

“Then it seems settled. We bust the vat up, smash the pottery or whatever it is, maybe grind up the pieces so it can’t be repaired, and then dump the goo.”

“How big was the vat?”

“Big. About five feet tall.”

“And wide?”

“Maybe two, three feet.”

“It will be heavy,” said Lauren.

“Yeah.”

“Will we be able to move it?”

Curran frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that. We’ll have to do it somehow. We can’t very well leave all that crap down in his cellar. He could still do the ceremony or whatever to bring back Satan.”

“Would it be too weird to suggest a wet/dry vacuum cleaner?”

“Weird? Yes. You might have something there, though. Depends on how much gunk is in the vat itself and how much the vacuum can hold.”

“We’ll have to find out.”

“You really think they’re the souls of all the evil people Darius has killed over the years in that vat?”

Lauren nodded. “Very likely.”

“And you’ve got no ideas how to stop this guy if he turns into a demon?”

Lauren frowned. “I’m still researching it.”

“Don’t take too long,” said Curran. “We’ll have to stop him. And soon.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Curran contacted Kwon shortly after four that afternoon. At about the same time as the sun started tracking west toward the horizon. The forecast called for more rain tonight.

Kwon’s assistant answered on the third ring and told Curran he was doing an autopsy. Curran frowned. “Tell him it’s important.”

The assistant sighed. “There’s a corpse on the gurney, sir. Is this really important?”

“Just get him.”

Kwon came on the line a minute later, breathing heavily. “You’re making my people upset, you know that?”

“Tired of wading through the dead yet?”

“It’s my damned job. Why?”

“No reason. Just wondering if you were busy tonight.”

“Why, your hand turn you down for a date again?”

Always the card, Kwon was. Curran smiled anyway. “I need your help. Again.”

“My help.” There was a pause on the phone. “I thought I made it clear I wasn’t really cut out for that kind of thing.”

“You’re the only one who can help me, pal.”

“Can’t you take this to headquarters?”

Curran laughed. “You’re kidding, right? I can’t waltz into HQ and tell everyone I need help subduing a demon who’s trying to resurrect Satan.”

“Suppose not.”

“I’d be whisked away in a little white ambulance, locked up in a padded cell. It’s up to us now. You know it.”

Kwon sighed. “Yeah.”

“You in, then?”

“I’m in.”

“I’ll swing by in an hour.”

“Meet you downstairs.”

Curran ended the call and looked over at the passenger’s seat. Lauren sat staring out the window. “Kwon says hi.”

“Is he coming?”

“Reluctantly. But yeah.” Curran frowned. “Wish it wasn’t necessary to have him along.”

“You don’t trust him?”

“Trust’s got nothing to do with it. He’s a friend of mine. I don’t want the bastard getting hurt is all.”

“You think he might get hurt?”

Curran considered it. Given what Darius appeared to be, the danger seemed evident. “I don’t think Darius is going to be an easy mark to put down, let’s put it that way.”

“Then having Kwon along will probably help make it easier to tackle Darius, no?”

Curran shook his head. “Tell me something: does every single one of your ideas always make so much damned sense?”

“Not at all. I’m on a lucky streak is all,” said Lauren with a smile.

Curran nodded. “We’ve got an hour. You want something to eat?”

“What are our choices?”

“Fast food and less fast food.”

“You know anywhere we can sit down around here?”

“Not really. Burger King’s up the street. Wendy’s a block further on from there. Got some good cheeseburgers.”

Lauren frowned. “I’ll go there this once on one condition.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“You take me out to a real dinner when this is all through.”

Curran smiled at her. “I’d love to take you out to a real dinner. I was afraid I only got one shot at that and I’d already blown it.”

Lauren shook her head. “You didn’t blow it, Steve. Maybe you just wanted things a little too soon.”

Curran smiled and drove the car further down Beacon Street. “Wendy’s or Burger King?”

They met Kwon an hour later down near the entrance to Government Center. His bluish greenish scrubs and white lab coat had vanished. He stood almost blending into the cement pillars holding up the courthouse wearing a gray windbreaker, a dark open-necked shirt and dark jeans with black sneakers.

He strolled down the steps toward them when he recognized the wave from Lauren. Curran watched him with a smile. Kwon knew how to move quickly without attracting attention.

Interesting.

He slid into the backseat and smiled at Lauren. “Good evening, Ms. Fields.”

“Kwon, please call me Lauren, okay.”

“Okay.” He turned to Curran. “What’s shakin’ muchacho?”

“We’re going to strike a blow for good, how does that sound to you?”

“I love a good blow,” said Kwon. He caught himself and slapped his forehead. “Oh, jeez, Lauren I’m sorry. I got a mouth like a sewer rat. Sometimes things just slip out.”

She laughed. “It’s okay, Kwon. I’m used to it. Besides, your joke was pretty funny.”

Kwon leaned back against the seat. “So, what’s the gig?”

“We’re paying Darius a visit.”

“Uh…and do what, exactly?”

“Stop him, of course.”

Kwon nodded. “Right.” He leaned a little closer to Curran’s headrest. “Listen, buddy, I don’t know if you noticed this or not but I’m more of a lover than a fighter. Dig? I don’t do much talking with my hands.”

“You’re more for show, okay?”

“Okay.” Kwon looked out the window. “So, what happens when we get there?”

“There’s something there we need to destroy.”

“You mean aside from the demon himself?”

“Uh huh.”

“What kind of something we looking for?”

“Some strange earthen jar that apparently contains the horrid putrid vomit of everyone he’s killed over the years.”

Kwon stayed quiet for a minute. “You freaking with me, Steve?”

“Not a chance, old buddy.”

“Five-year old vomit?”

“Some of it might be a lot older.” He shrugged. “Some of it might be aged like a fine wine. Say a hundred years?”

Lauren leaned back over the seat. “What we think is the vomit — what looks and smells like vomit — well, we think it may actually be the souls of the people this man has killed.”

“Their souls?”

Lauren nodded. “I know it sounds a bit strange.”

“Just a bit,” said Kwon. “But then again, I’m more of a believer than I suppose I oughta be. I’ll go along with whatever you guys say happened.”

“Thanks, Kwon,” said Curran.

“One question,” said Kwon. “If it’s their souls, how did it get to be vomit?”

Lauren looked back at Kwon again. “This man, this killer, he ingested their evil and then excreted it into the jar.”

“But it’s still vomit,” said Kwon.

“Looks that way,” said Curran.

“Man,” said Kwon. “I shoulda brought some gel for my nostrils.”

“Look at it this way,” said Curran. “At least you know ahead of time what the jar contains. I just opened it up and got the shock of my life.”

Kwon’s eyebrows danced. “You opened it?”

“Yeah.”

Kwon chuckled. “Cripes, did you lose your lunch or what?”

“Outside,” said Curran. “In the gutter.”

“And we’re destroying this jar?”

“Yep.”

“So what happens to the junk inside?”

“It goes down the drain,” said Curran. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

“Gonna be smelly no matter what we do with it,” said Kwon. “Guess the local sewer will have to suffice.”

Curran found his way to the new westbound entrance to the Massachusetts Turnpike and headed for the Newton exit. They could double back toward Chestnut Hill from there.

Kwon nursed the bottle of water in the back, occasionally whistling to himself. In the front seat Lauren stared out the window of the car as they drove.

Curran kept both hands on the wheel and sighed. His life had gone from strange to worse in only a matter of days. He’d broken the law today for the first time in his life. He was in love with a woman who was about to become a nun. His closest friend was a bizarre medical examiner who acted more like a gigolo than anything else.

And they were all on their way to confront the servant of Satan.

Curran grinned.

Whoever said his life would be ordinary, didn’t know jack crap.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

By the time they got into Chestnut Hill, dark rain clouds had invaded the night sky. The sodium streetlights overhead cast lengthy shadows across the blackened streets. Curran drove slowly, brought the car down Darius' street and promptly stopped.

“What the hell is this?”

Two police cruisers sat outside of Darius’ house, one marked, the other an unmarked Ford. Two uniforms leaned against the hood of one of them.

Curran frowned. “You two stay here.”

He got out of the car and walked over the two officers. One of them looked at him funny. “Hey, Steve Curran?”

Curran nodded. “I know you?”

The uniform nodded. “You worked a homicide case that happened over by the Cleveland Circle Reservoir a few years back. Name’s Wilkins.”

Curran shook his hand. “That’s right. Sorry, got a hellish time with names.”

“No sweat.” He glanced at Curran’s car. “You got business here?”

“Buddy of mine is thinking about moving to the neighborhood. We’ve been cruising, you know, scouting some locations in case something opens up.”

Wilkins nodded. “Pretty nice area overall. House prices are killer, though. Your buddy got some kinda good job or what?”

“Overtime like no one’s business,” said Curran. He nodded at the two cop cars. “What’s the story with the presence?”

The other cop introduced himself and yawned. “Guy inside claims his place was broken into today.”

“Yeah?”

Wilkins nodded. “Yep. Guys from burglary are in there taking a statement from him right now.”

“They sent over two cruisers?”

The second cop frowned. “Guy bitched and moaned so they sent us over to calm him down. As it is, we’re going to be posted outside for the next day or so, just to ease the guy’s mind some.”

“Not the kind of thing we do for most burglary cases,” said Curran.

“Neither do we,” said Wilkins. “Apparently this dude gave heavy dough to the mayor’s last campaign. He called and yanked hard on some strings. Chief got the call and here we are.”

“What was taken?”

“Not a damned thing, near as we could see,” said the first cop.

“So, in other words,” said Curran, “this guy is dicking you over.”

“Looks that way.” The cop shrugged. “But overtime’s overtime. And I got a new boat I need to pay off, so what the hell.”

The door to the house opened and Darius and a detective Curran vaguely recognized from Chestnut Hill’s burglary department walked onto the side porch. Darius saw Curran and smiled. Curran waved the detective over. The name came to him just as the detective reached him with his hand out already.

“What the hell’s going on here, Sam?”

“Boston got a reason to be involved in this?”

Curran grinned. “I was just passing by and saw you. Come on, no secrets, buddy. Full disclosure, remember?”

“Guy claims someone broke into his place this morning.”

“Anything stolen inside?”

“Nope. Big freaking waste of time.”

Curran looked at him. “You ready to shoot him yet?”

The detective smiled. “’Bout ten minutes ago. Guy’s a royal prick. And he’s wasting our goddamned time.”

“Why don’t you let me talk to him.”

“You know him?”

Curran shrugged. “Questioned him about a button related to a couple of homicide cases I’m working. Who knows? He might feel more comfortable talking to me.”

“I don’t know. This guy’s a real piece of work.”

“Old time’s sake,” said Curran. “You mind?”

“Nah. Go ahead and talk to him. You get anything out worthwhile, gimme a call, okay? I gotta get some grub. Been running on empty all damned day. Jewel heist at the Atrium Mall this morning and all.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

Curran walked over to the porch. Darius smiled as he came up.

“Do you like my new security system?”

Curran grinned. “Fairly effective.” Not the kind of thing he expected a demon to resort to, however.

“Only fairly? That’s not a very complimentary assessment of your co-workers.”

“They’re Chestnut Hill. Suburb cops.”

“With nothing better to do, they might just go at this with real zeal.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Curran. “I might know some tricks for getting around them.”

“Would those tricks fall into the same category as picking locks?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Curran.

“I’m quite certain you do,” said Darius. “Did you have a nice time in my house today?”

“Like I just said, I have no idea what you mean.”

Darius smirked. “Come now, Curran, you don’t think I’m wired do you? Do you really believe with everything that you have apparently discovered about me — whether through guile or criminal intent — that I would resort to such plebian and utterly human measures as electronic surveillance?”

“Well, you’ve got cops watching your house. Besides, at this point, Darius, I don’t know what you’d resort to and what you wouldn’t.” Curran looked over his shoulder checking to see where the two uniforms were. They were each smoking and chatting quietly.

Curran turned his attention back to Darius. “But it seems to me you’d do almost anything to make sure your little dream comes true.”

“My dream?”

“Quest, whatever you want to call it,” said Curran. “Makes no damned difference to me.”

Darius looked beyond him and smiled. “I see you brought some friends with you tonight.”

“Help,” said Curran.

“Ah, the woman.” Darius’ eyes narrowed and he licked his lips. “I’d wondered what had become of her. And here she is.”

“You’d do well to leave her alone.”

Darius’ eyes flamed. “False bravado, detective. You are well out of your league here and deep down in your pathetic existence, you know it.”

“Maybe.” Curran shrugged. “So, let me ask you something then.”

“Certainly.”

“Let’s pretend you actually succeed in this mission of yours.”

“There’s nothing pretend about it, Curran. It will come to pass. I’ve worked too hard to see it fail. No one will be able to stop me anyway.”

“That remains to be seen,” said Curran.

Darius looked like he wanted to say something, but apparently thought better of it. “If you say so. Continue with your question.”

Curran nodded. “So you are able to bring back Satan. Then what?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what exactly happens? I mean does he take over the world? Does he kill off all the innocents and leave only the truly wicked? What happens to you?”

“I will finally be able to leave this forsaken plane and return home.”

Curran tried to grin. “If things work out well, I’ll send you back to Hell myself.”

Darius started laughing. He kept laughing and then turned and walked back into the house.

Curran stood there and heard the deadbolt slide home with a heavy thunk.

Then he turned and walked back down the steps. “Good night, guys,” he said to the uniformed cops.

Back in the car, he sighed.

“So, what the hell is going on?” asked Kwon.

“Darius called the cops and told them someone broke into his pad earlier,” said Curran. “He’s got some uniforms standing guard over his place for the next day or so.”

“That makes getting to the jar a little difficult,” said Lauren.

“Yeah,” said Curran. “It sure does.” He leaned back into the seat and started the car. “We won’t be able to do anything sitting here.”

Kwon cleared his throat. “So, what’s our move?”

Curran looked at Lauren. “How soon do you think it will be before he kills again?”

“I have no way of knowing,” said Lauren.

“We might have to wait,” said Curran. “As much as I don’t want to.”

“For what,” said Kwon. “For those uniforms to get bored and go away?”

“They won’t go away until they're told to,” said Curran. “I mean, it’s a crap detail but they’re making over thirty bucks an hour just sitting there twiddling their thumbs. It’s easy money.”

Lauren sighed. “So we either wait for the police to leave the house unguarded again or we wait until he leaves the house?”

“He’s going to have to leave it sooner or later,” said Curran. “If he’s got another soul to eat, he’ll have to leave.”

“And what,” said Kwon, “we follow him?”

“Catch him in the act,” said Curran. “Or we wait until he goes, break into his place and then destroy the vat then.”

“Risky,” said Kwon. “The police dispatcher will probably pay more attention to any suspicious calls coming in from around here.”

“True,” said Curran. “But only if they’re paying attention. Continuity isn’t great in 911 operations.”

“Continuity?” asked Lauren.

“Yeah, when one shift comes on duty and the other leaves, there’s always a handover of what’s been going on during the last shift. That way the new operators know the general scene of the city, what the hot spots are, that kind of thing. If it’s poor, and with Boston, it generally is, then there’s a chance a call reporting suspicious activity will go into the low priority file.”

“A chance.”

Curran shrugged. “Nothing’s perfect.”

“Better move this car,” said Kwon. “Your buddies in blue are starting to wonder what we’re up to.”

Curran nodded. “No sense giving them reason to be alert.” He slid the car out of its space and rolled down the street.

“You realize,” said Kwon, “that’s it’s insane that Darius has protection right now.”

“He apparently donated heavily to the mayor’s last election campaign. He’s got friends in high places.” Curran glanced at Lauren. “I never knew demons contributed to political parties.”

Lauren shook her head. “Amazing isn’t it? He uses our own systems against us to make his job easier.”

“Fantastic,” said Kwon. “It’s always so damned refreshing to see the system hard at work for the criminals.”

Curran laughed. “It’s almost comical.”

“Yeah,” said Kwon. “If only the fate of us all wasn’t at stake.” He sighed. “Man, this is nuts. Why don’t you just let me call a friend of mine who can cap this guy from distance with a sniper rifle? Whole thing’ll be solved real quick.”

Curran turned around. “You know people like that?”

“Man’s got to have friends in seedy places.”

“Much as the idea appeals to me,” said Curran, “we can’t. Primarily because we’d all be implicated.”

“How so?”

“Darius isn’t some naive fool, Kwon. He knows what kind of danger he’s in now. He knows I’m not the only one after him. And he’s smart enough to take precautions to let the world know what happened to him should a bullet zoom into him without reason.”

Kwon slumped back against the seat. “This sucks.”

“Besides,” said Curran. “The sniper trick might work on a human. This guy’s a demon. Who know what hurts him?”

“Never know until we try.”

Curran frowned. “Yeah, well we’ve got another problem right now.”

“What’s that?”

He glanced at Lauren. “He seemed very interested in seeing you. I don’t like having you around us right now. He might come for you or do something else.”

“Then we can use that,” said Lauren.

“I’m not treating you like bait,” said Curran. “And I’m not arguing about it, either.”

Kwon sat up. “Drive me home, I’ll grab my car, come back and set up watch on him. You stash the lady here and then come on back.”

“You comfortable doing that?” asked Curran.

“Not really,” said Kwon. “But someone’s got to keep watch on that guy. I’ll stay here. I got your cell phone number. I know how to dial.”

“Okay,” said Curran. “Let’s do it.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

They dropped Kwon off at his house shortly after eight o’clock. Curran shook his hand. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

Kwon shrugged. “No. But if things get hairy I’m sure I can convince him otherwise.”

“Thought you said you were a lover not a fighter.”

“I am.”

“You also said you don’t do much talking with your hands.”

Kwon nodded. “Yep. That’s true.”

“But you think you’ll be able to handle him, huh?”

Kwon leaned into the window and smiled. “I never said anything about not knowing how to use my feet. I studied Tae Kyon and Han Pul back in Korea.”

“For how long?” Curran wasn’t sure any type of martial arts would be useful against a demon but he didn’t say so.

“Long enough.” He patted Curran on the shoulder. “Get out of here, cowboy. Lauren, you watch out for this guy.”

She smiled. “Take care, Kwon.”

Curran drove off, watching Kwon wave after them in the rearview mirror. He glanced at Lauren. “You think it’s still safe at Father Jim’s?”

“Hopefully.”

“Should I be naive and hope that the demon can’t enter a holy dwelling like a church or other blessed home?”

“This isn’t the movie Highlander, Steve. And remember, it didn’t stop him from killing Sister Donovan in her own home.”

Curran sighed. “That doesn’t make me feel good about leaving you alone.”

“I won’t be alone. Father Jim will be with me. Remember? My boyfriend.” She smiled.

Curran grinned. “Add some more salt to the wound why don’t you.”

Lauren stayed quiet for a minute, watching the outside world flash by. “Was it necessary to talk to Darius back at his house?”

“I think so,” said Curran.

“Why?”

“He knows we’re on to him. He’s trying to thwart our attempts to link him to the any crimes that we could bust him on. If he’s able to establish us as harassing him, he’ll have an easier time of completing his mission.”

“That concerns me,” said Lauren.

“What do you mean?”

“The fact that he’s so willing to come out of the shadows and confront us on this whole thing. It leaves me feeling very unsettled.”

“You think he’s up to something else?”

“No,” said Lauren. “But I wish it was just that.” She sighed. “I think he might be getting close to completing the mission.”

“Because he confronted us.”

“Yes.” She tapped the dashboard. “I think he’s reached the sort of point where he’s not so concerned anymore with us being able to stop him.”

“He’s more confident now,” said Curran.

“Uh huh. Think of it this way: if he’s only got one more person to kill, what difference will we be able to make?”

“Hopefully a very big one,” said Curran.

“Yes. But from his perspective,” said Lauren, “he doesn’t have much of anything to lose. He knows he can kill one more person, get their soul into that vat and then begin the resurrection ceremony. Don’t you see? He’s not just confident. He’s starting to feel invincible.”

“I think he’s probably been feeling pretty invincible for a long time,” said Curran.

“Maybe,” said Lauren. “But he’s bound to be feeling more like he’s won now than ever before.”

Curran frowned. “You’re depressing me.”

“I’m depressing myself, Steve. But I think it’s the truth.”

They passed a small noodle restaurant and Curran turned them left. “I never would have expected a demon to behave like this.”

“How do you mean?”

“Guess I’ve got this old fairy tale notion of them being these nasty ugly beasts that can only breathe fire and kill you. But here this guy Darius is using the cops against us. He’s got himself some interesting attributes.”

“Satan is a lot more talented than many people give him credit for. You can bet he’d never send a dimwitted servant with such an important mission to Earth.”

“Yeah.” Curran wove back up toward Commonwealth Avenue and into Brighton. He glanced over at Lauren who was staring out of the window. “What are you thinking?”

She looked at him and smiled. “Just how curious life can be. Two weeks ago, I never would have expected my life to be the way it is now.”

Curran swallowed. “And how is that?”

“You know, chasing a demon. Trying to keep Satan from coming back to make life on earth Hell.” She smiled. “Meeting you.”

“Meeting me.”

“Sure, you’re a good friend, Steve. If not for this evil that’s being attempted, we’d never have even met.”

A friend. He sighed. Great. Just what he needed: another friend. “Yeah, that’s really wonderful.”

She looked at him. “You all right?”

“Yeah. Fine.” He passed Cleveland Circle and cut right up toward Boston College. “Anyway, if everything goes well, we’ll be done with this soon.”

“You have a plan?”

“We still have to get inside and destroy that vat. I figure we’ve got maybe two days to do that in.”

“Less than that now.”

He looked at her. “How do you figure?”

“Remember Sister McDewey and her forty-eight hours? The clock’s been ticking.”

Crap. He’d forgotten. “Still, the cops’ll be pulled off that detail soon. Darius will be vulnerable again.”

“You think he knows that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you think he’d be aware of his vulnerability? That he’d attempt to make sure he’s covered himself before those police are taken off the case?”

Curran frowned. “I don’t know how he could.”

“There haven’t been any deaths for a while now.”

“Not since Simpson, no.”

Lauren nodded. “Maybe there’s one left. Maybe there’s one last person he’s got to get to make the vat as complete as it can be. From there, he’d go ahead and try to start the resurrection ceremony.”

“You think he’ll kill again soon?”

“Yes,” said Lauren. “Before the deadline’s over.”

Curran sighed. “Part of me feels like he’s been playing us for fools ever since he came to town.”

Lauren’s voice was quiet. “Maybe even earlier.”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “Maybe this whole thing — everything, has been carefully planned out from the start.”

“But according to the journals, he’s been wandering for eons gathering the evil that was fragmented.”

“But maybe it’s only been in the last few years that things have accelerated. Maybe it’s only been since then that he’s used people.”

Curran’s mind whirled. “You think he knew what he was doing when his kills came to my attention way back in the Bureau?”

“Seems like he’s been aware of you for some time now.”

“But for what reason? Why me? What good would it do to have me feel so compelled to track him? What purpose would it serve?”

“Everything that’s happened since then, Steve.” She laid a hand on his arm. “Darius might even know things before we do.”

Curran pushed her hand away. “I feel like a damned fool. Playing right into his hands. You know how much he’s cost me in terms of my life and my career?”

“I know.”

“You don’t!” Curran’s voice rose. “You don’t know what he’s done to me, what he’s cost me. All of this — “ His voice trailed off. “It’s all for nothing now.”

“No,” said Lauren. “It’s not all for nothing. There’s still chance we can stop him.”

“Right,” said Curran. “We’ll just keep planning what we’ve got planned. That’ll make him quiver with fear.”

“You don’t have to be so sarcastic.”

“Sarcastic? Lauren, I’m struggling to keep my head above water here. I’ve been tracking this freaker for years and now you tell me he’s probably been playing me for a damned fool ever since I started. How do you think that makes me feel?”

“I’m sorry.”

Curran rolled the car to a stop. “Forget it.” He unlocked the doors. Lauren started to get out. She turned and looked at him.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Curran sighed. “Yeah, well, truth hurts I guess.”

“Steve-“

“I’ll call you later.”

She looked down. “Okay.”

Curran waited for her to get out of the car and then peeled out. He didn’t even glance back in his rearview mirror. If he had, he might have seen Lauren looking at him with tears in her eyes.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Lauren couldn’t sleep.

Outside her window, the November winds roiled and battered the house with twigs, branches, and flecks of dust. She burrowed deeper under the covers and wished she could simply go to sleep and wake up when this was all over.

Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything to Steve. The fact was, she decided, Darius seemed to always be one step ahead of them. Steve needed to hear what I told him, if only to try and motivate him enough to take action before Darius leads us all again.

Still…she frowned. She hadn’t really counted on making him angry. He probably hates me now, she thought.

She couldn’t blame him.

The real problem was something else.

She shifted. Lauren already knew she was physically attracted to Curran. It was obvious, at least within the internal machinations of her body. She sensed how she changed when he was around.

When Curran wasn’t around, Lauren felt calm. She felt at peace with the rest of her world. Everything seemed clear, well-defined. She could see her goal of becoming a nun. It seemed as easy as taking a breath.

But when Curran was around, his presence seemed to carbonize her hormones. Lauren found herself blushing like some naive schoolgirl if he looked at her too long.

And that smile of his.

She sighed.

Her commitment to the Church in some ways felt like it was wavering. And she didn’t want that to happen. She had chosen her destiny and this was the course she wanted to stick with.

She hoped.

The problem was, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could go on convincing herself the Church was her destiny. Equally troubling, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could go on denying her fascination for Curran.

Working for the Church would have its own rewards, of course. And they’d probably be far greater than anything she might find outside of the Church. But still, something deep within the recesses of her mind, nagged at her.

Almost doubt.

Almost.

Lauren frowned. Was she really cut out for a life in the Church? Could she hack it? She sighed. Of course she could. Hadn’t she already invested so much time and energy into it? Hadn’t this become her path to salvation? Or at least closure on all the bad things that had happened to her in the past?

It had to be somewhere, after all. Lauren couldn’t keep going through life scared of commitment, scared of men, scared of intimate contact. She just couldn’t. Her brother had scarred her badly doing what he did. That couldn’t be changed.

But her outlook on life could. Her perspective on how she would live the rest of her existence, that could be changed.

And entering the Church was the best way she knew how to get things back the way they needed to be.

Falling in love might be another, she finally conceded.

But there were no guarantees down that path.

What if she fell in love with a man who eventually spurned her? What if he dumped her hard after she fell for him and she found herself right back where she was now?

Lauren didn’t think she could stand that again.

She turned over in bed, aware of how suddenly hot she felt. She kicked off a layer of comforters. A little bit of cool air refreshed her.

Maybe that’s what she wanted most out of her life: a guarantee.

No guarantees in life, she thought with a small grin. Wasn’t that the old saying? Except death and taxes.

She wondered what Curran was doing.

She wondered how he slept at night.

Was he curled up in a fetal position or flat on his back.

Lauren pictured him flat on his back, one arm behind his head under a pillow. He’d be naked except for a pair of jockey shorts. She could see in her mind’s eye the wavy ridges marking his abdominal muscles, the sweeping fullness of his pectoral muscles, the peaks along his arms.

She sighed again.

Curran.

Did he love her?

She shook her head. Probably not. After all, she’d given him little reason to develop his affection into anything beyond lust. She felt a twinge of heartache when she realized she might have been too cruel to him during their time together.

But he desired her.

She knew that.

All it took was a single glance at the way his eyes traveled over her body. They way they locked with her own eyes. It almost seemed like he could dilate his pupils at will, opening and closing them as if drawing her into the black hole of his desire.

Lauren could feel it.

It was almost tangible.

She wondered what it would be like to touch Curran. What it would be like to trace her fingers, her hands…even her tongue, along the ridges and valleys of his muscle bellies. She imagined herself entwined with him. Legs over legs, arms over arms, heads bent in a passionate kiss.

She moaned.

And caught herself.

She yanked her eyes open and looked around, as if afraid someone might hear her. Father Jim lived here alone for the most part, but occasionally, a visiting priest would come into town and spend the night.

She thought of Darius.

Could he find her here? Could her enter this holy dwelling?

She reached out of her bed, fumbling for the drawer in the oak nightstand, and slid the drawer open.

Her fingers felt for the cold steel barrel of the small caliber handgun inside. It slid into her hand like it had been molded to it. She gripped it tightly, feeling the knurled grips, the solid weight, and the lethality even in its compactness.

She felt better.

Even though she hated guns.

She exhaled, sighing as the cool interior of the room suddenly made her a little cold. She lay there in the dark, listening to the sounds of the night outside.

More wind.

It had felt more like a breezy New England March than a November these last few days. Every time she caught a snippet of weather, the newscasters reminded her that this was the windiest November on record.

A sudden scratch at the window made her jump.

She eased slowly out of bed and then ripped the curtains open, aiming the gun — ready to shoot.

A twisted branch of wet maple scored a line across the glass.

She let the curtain fall back and sighed.

Too jumpy, Lauren.

She hopped back into bed and drew the covers up again. The gun lay against her breast. Each time she breathed, her breast grew and she became acutely aware of the gun’s weight.

She turned over and slid the gun back into the drawer, closing it slowly.

No sense shooting herself in the middle of the night by accident. Not while there was still a lot of work to be done.

After all, they still had to catch the Soul Eater.

Lauren flopped back over on her back. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what Darius might be doing. In her mind’s eye she seemed to float away, she saw herself almost flying out of her body, out into the night.

But the cold didn’t seem to affect her. She floated on gusts of wind, danced over rooftops and spires, and zoomed out over the city.

Then she saw the house in Chestnut Hill.

It seemed so vivid. The entire scene.

She could see the police car. Just one now. She could see Kwon still wide-awake in his car drumming in time to some music on the radio.

The steps to Darius’ house lay before her. She looked down and saw her bare feet begin moving up them.

She got to the door.

And frowned.

Lauren tried walking through the door and found herself inside the house.

Walking into darkness.

Stairs ahead of her seemed to draw her up them, so she obeyed. Her feet padded noiselessly on the treads. No creaks betrayed her weight.

In her mind, Lauren wondered if she was really there or simply dreaming the entire thing.

She continued climbing the steps.

At the top, she turned. She could go either left or right.

But she felt drawn right.

A door stood open a crack and she eased herself inside.

There.

Darius.

In his bed.

Moaning.

She frowned. What was he doing?

She moved closer. His mouth moved but his voice sounded different. She stooped closer, trying hard to hear what he was saying.

She stood back.

Darius wasn’t speaking English.

The words coming out of his mouth didn’t seem as though he was speaking at all. An ancient flavor tinged the words that rolled off his tongue. They sounded like some sort of evil liturgy.

Lauren grimaced as Darius flipped over in his bed.

It reminded her of a possession she had once seen a documentary on. Or even the scene from the Exorcist.

Inside, she struggled to stay where she was. Part of her, a big part of her, wanted to come back to the quiet solitude and relative peace of her bedroom. It was safe there.

Safer than where she stood right now.

But a bigger part of her remained curious about Darius.

What was going on with him?

What was he saying?

The rhythmic speech continued. Low and almost monotonous.

Lauren looked around Darius’ room. She could see some dumbbells in the darkness. She could see the sparse items lining the top of his bureau.

In the background, Darius continued to speak.

She turned her attention back at him.

Almost with the kind of interest a researcher might have for a test subject, she appraised him. This man, this demon, could well bring about the ruin of the entire planet. He could be responsible for the deaths of millions of innocent people.

He could unleash the greatest evil the world had ever known.

Objectively, she marveled at his relative obscurity. After all, Darius wasn’t a giant specimen of a man. He was ordinary. Gray almost.

Therein lay the danger.

Being ordinary, no one would suspect him of anything. Lauren remembered something a self-defense instructor once told her. “When something comes from nothing, it’s always a big surprise.”

She nodded in the darkness. Something from nothing.

Subjectively, Lauren wanted to see Darius struck down. She wanted him to fail in his quest. Who knew what kind of punishment he might get for failing to free his master?

I wish I could have brought my gun with me, she thought.

And then again, she felt herself unsure of whether this was just a dream.

Or if she was really in Darius’ bedroom.

He kept speaking.

The words were lower now. The same degree of monotony kept them from being audible beyond what sounded like grunting.

Lauren frowned. What was he saying?

She sat on the edge of his bed before she realized she’d done it. She glanced down but saw no evidence that her weight had caused any disturbance. In fact, she didn’t even seem to be registering on his mattress at all.

Just another astral traveler, she thought.

And then that notion felt weird to her as well.

She leaned closer to Darius’ mouth. She could hear the words, almost feel the heat of his breath tickling the fine hairs along her neck and ear.

Whatever language he was speaking, Lauren had never heard it before. Not that that was so unusual, she didn’t have much aptitude for languages.

The words coming out of Darius’ mouth died down to a mere whisper. It sounded like a hiss in the night. Like some slimy snake had slithered out his hole.

Only to retreat again.

She shuddered as the hissing continued. It crept up her back, all along her spine and ran down her arms in goosebumps. There was evil in what Darius spoke.

Pure evil.

Lauren felt sure that she might even be hearing the voice of his master speaking to his servant as he slept.

Were they instructions for the next victim?

She tried once more to lean in close and hear what Darius was saying. If she could pick out a name, perhaps. Maybe then they could stop Darius from killing the man or woman chosen to die.

As she leaned closer, the voice suddenly stopped.

Lauren turned her head.

Darius’ eyes were wide open.

Looking at her.

And then as he smiled there in the darkness, his mouth opened and more words came out.

“Hello Lauren.”

Chapter Thirty

Lauren jerked upright.

Back in her own bed.

She heaved, trying to flush oxygen into her lungs. Sweat ran down her forehead. The sheets around her felt damp all the way down in between her legs.

She ran a hand over her forehead and it came away soaking wet.

Lauren dropped her head into her hands and breathed slowly for a few more minutes. My god, she thought, what happened to me?

Had she really traveled out of her body? Had she seen Darius in his bed? Had he known she was there?

“He spoke to me,” she said in the quiet of her bedroom.

And the fear she’d felt at that moment when he did suddenly came crashing back into her chest, seizing her like some icy death grip. She shivered, gathering the sheets up around her. Even her sweat felt cold now.

Outside the winds shooshed past her window. The branches scraped the glass. Even the shadows in her room seemed longer than they had…she glanced at her alarm clock.

2:45

My God, she thought, did it really take me so long to dream this?

Was it even a dream?

She reached over the bed and found the phone. Shakily, she pushed the buttons for Curran’s home number.

It rang.

And rang.

“Please answer,” she said quietly.

Another three rings — just as she was getting ready to hang up — someone picked up on the other end.

“Yeah?”

“Steve?”

The voice became alert. “Lauren. Yeah. What’s up? What time is it?”

“Almost three.”

“God.” He paused. “You okay?”

“I…I had a bad dream.”

“A bad dream? What, like a nightmare?”

“It felt real enough.”

Curran cleared his throat. “I’ve had some of those lately myself.”

“Steve. I think it might have been.”

“Explain that to me. I’m a little groggy.”

“I dreamed I was in Darius’ house. Walking around. I walked upstairs.” She hesitated. “I saw him, Steve.”

“You saw him? Darius?”

“Yes.”

“What was he doing?”

“He was asleep. In his bed.”

“Describe his bedroom to me.”

“Not much to describe. It’s not very nicely decorated. A bed, some exercise weights, a dresser I think, that’s about it.”

Another pause. Longer this time. “Okay. So what happened?”

“He was mumbling in his sleep.”

“You hear what he was saying?”

“It was in some weird language. One I’ve never heard before.”

“Plenty of those around. Could have been anything.”

“It sounded old, Steve. Very ancient. Almost singsong. It scared me listening to it like I was.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Is it possible I heard him communicating with…?” She trailed off; surprised she didn’t want to say it herself. As if saying it would reinforce the idea that it had actually happened.

“The Devil?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know,” said Curran. “I suppose anything is possible at this point.”

“You don’t think it was a dream?”

“Might have been, although you described his bedroom perfectly. Not the kind of thing you’d be able to pull out of thin air. Haven’t researchers found that people tend to have out-of-body experiences most often when they sleep?”

“I don’t know,” said Lauren.

“Well, no matter. You weren’t able to hear what he was saying. Not much we can pull out of this.”

“Steve…there’s something else.”

“What is it?”

“He spoke to me.”

“What?”

“Just as I was leaning in, trying to make out what he was saying. He opened his eyes.”

“He was awake?”

“I think he woke up.”

“You sure he spoke to you?”

Another crash against her bedroom window. Another gust of wind. It’s like all the evil is outside trying to get in, she thought. Trying to get to me. “Positive. He looked right at me.”

“He saw you? How is that possible?”

“I don’t know. My god I don’t know.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘hello Lauren.’”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“No death threats or anything?”

“He didn’t have to. If you’d seen the way he looked through me. Like I wasn’t even there.”

“You weren’t there, Lauren.”

“But I was.”

“Okay.”

“It scared me, Steve. I got the impression in just those two words, and standing there watching him mumble in his sleep. I got the impression it’s going to happen soon.”

“The resurrection?”

“Yes.”

“Well, he can’t do much right now. He’s got two cops and Kwon sitting on him. Be tough to get out of that house without someone noticing him.”

“I don’t think any of those measures would stop him if he really meant to get out and do something about it.”

Curran’s voice sounded fully awake now. “You think Kwon’s in danger?”

“I think we’re all in danger.”

“Goes without saying,” said Curran. “But what about imminent danger? I can phone Kwon if you need me to.”

Lauren closed her eyes, still clutching the sheets to her. “I don’t know. I can’t honestly say. I just keep seeing his eyes. The way they looked. So cold. So hollow. Vacant almost, you know? Like he wasn’t even in his body.”

“Want me to come over?”

She hesitated again. Part of her wanted him to. Part of her yearned for him to come over and wrap her in his arms, to make the rest of the world dissolve into nothingness. He could protect her, she felt. She knew this. She desired it.

“No,” she said finally. “I’ll see you in a few hours anyway.”

“You’re sure?”

“No,” said Lauren. “I’m not sure. But it’s better if you don’t.”

“Why’s it better?”

“Because we won’t be tempted to make a mistake.”

“It might not be a mistake, Lauren. You ever think about that?”

“All the time, Steve. All the time.”

“You’re sure.”

“I am.”

He sighed. Lauren could feel his desperation even down the phone line. “All right. I’ll pick you up at seven. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“You call me if anything happens.”

“I will.”

“Or if you change your mind.”

“I will.”

“I can be there in ten minutes.”

“I know.”

“Ten minutes,” said Curran. “Not long at all.”

Lauren smiled. “Good night, Steve.”

“Good night, Lauren.”

Curran called Kwon.

Not that he was overly concerned, but he did find Lauren’s detail of Darius’ bedroom unerring. He sat on the edge of his bed, down slippers keeping his feet warm. They were the only things that could it seemed.

Kwon answered on the third ring. “Why you bothering me?”

“You always answer the phone that way?”

“Only when I know it’s some sex-starved cop on the other end.”

“Funny.” The winds outside howled. One of the shutters sounded like it had worked its way loose and was banging against the side of the house.

“What’s up?”

“Just got a call from Lauren.”

“Ah, the little lady finally coming around for you?”

“Not a chance.”

“See? She’s too smart to get mixed up with a big lug like you.”

“You know, Kwon, any time my ego’s in the dumps, there’s nothing like a call from you to make me feel even worse.”

“Glad to oblige. So, why you calling me?”

“Checking in.”

“Dude, it’s almost three in the damned morning. Get some sleep.”

“I was.” Before Lauren called and told me she’d been visiting with Darius, he thought.

“Then she called.”

“Exactly.”

“Can’t sleep now?”

“Well…” What was keeping him up at this ungodly hour? He frowned. Was it just Kwon’s safety? Or was it something else? An image of Lauren floated through his mind.

Kwon sighed. “You love her don’t you?”

Curran snapped back to reality. “I never said that.”

“Christ, Curran, you don’t have to.”

Was it even worthwhile trying to deny it anymore? “Probably not.”

“Feeling like crap yet?”

“Sure am.”

“Good.”

“Good? How is that good?”

“Good you recognize that you’re in love with the lady.”

“Feeling like crap means I’m in love?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve been in love a million times then.”

“Bro, you know what I mean.”

I don’t know anymore, he decided. He didn’t know what any of it meant. The only thing that felt right was being close to Lauren. Was that love? He guessed it was. He sighed again. “Cops still there?”

“Oh yeah. Think they’re asleep though.”

“Great.”

“Bastions of law enforcement professionalism,” said Kwon. “You’re lucky to be associated with these guys.”

“They’re Chestnut Hill PD, not Boston. That’s like comparing SEALs to Boy Scouts.”

Kwon laughed. “What did Lauren say, anyway?”

“Said she dreamed she visited Darius’ house and saw him in his bed.”

“Wow.”

“Said she heard him mumbling in some weird language in his sleep.”

“Weird language? What, like speaking in tongues or something?”

“Maybe.”

“Spooky.”

“Also said Darius woke up. Looked right at her. Even said hello.”

“No wonder she called you.”

And waking up to a night like it was outside, afterward would have sent her over the edge, thought Curran. “Pretty freaky.”

“Hell, I woulda called you.”

“I’m touched.”

“Been telling you that for years,” said Kwon. “So, how come you’re not over there comforting her right now?”

“I offered.”

“You offered.” Kwon’s voice began sounding like a frustrated schoolteacher.

“Said I could be there in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes.”

“Yeah.”

“Curran, how long’s it been since you picked up a woman.”

“A while.”

“Push me over with a feather, I’m so shocked,” said Kwon. “Dude, you don’t ‘offer’ anything. Just show up.”

“I can’t just show up.”

“Why not?”

It was a good question. Why couldn’t he just go over there? Why couldn’t he go and tell her how much he cared for her? “I don’t know.”

“Right. That’s your problem.”

“I don’t think she’d be happy about me just showing up unannounced.”

“You’re picking her up anyway in the morning.”

“Yeah. At seven.”

“So, you’re four hours early.”

“Great logic.”

“Look, you want this woman or not? All I’ve been hearing from you for the last few days is how much you think she’s the greatest thing since take-out Chinese food. Now, I’m telling you if you go over there right now, it’ll be the best move you’ve made so far.”

She might say no, thought Curran.

“She won’t say no.”

Curran almost smiled. “Reading minds now?”

“It’s not too hard with you, pal.”

“What if we’re a little late getting over to you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” said Kwon. “I can handle things over here on the Satan worshipper front. Guy’s not going anywhere right now, anyway. Not with all this traffic outside his place. He’d be a damned fool to do anything like that.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. Get going. Just take a shower first.”

Curran smiled. “See you in a few hours.”

“Tell Lauren I said hello.”

“I will.”

Curran hung up the phone and smiled. Maybe Kwon was right. He stood and looked at himself in the mirror.

Only one way to find out, he decided.

Chapter Thirty-One

Curran reached the house in Brighton forty minutes after he got off the phone with Kwon. Showered and shaved, he stepped from his car, looking up at the brick and wood building. Shadows from the closest trees hung over the gables like angry vultures.

He hadn’t felt this nervous since his first date back in junior high school.

It’s not too late, part of him thought. We could turn around, go home, and get a few more hours of sack time. A little extra sleep would certainly be good for him.

He took a breath of cold pre-dawn air and shuddered. No more running away from it, he decided.

He took the steps two at a time and rang the buzzer outside the door.

It clicked two minutes later. Her voice didn’t sound sleepy. “Yes?”

“Lauren. It’s Steve.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah.”

“But I thought — what do you want?”

“I need to see you. Can I come in?”

She paused. “Hold on.”

Curran stood waiting and a minute later the door buzzed open.

Kwon sat in his car tapping in time to the beat on the radio. His cell phone was glued to his ear. The phone on the other end rang and rang and rang.

And finally picked up.

Kwon sat up straighter. “Yeah, hi. Can I put a request in? Thanks. How about some Def Leppard? Send it out to Kwon. Working the graveyard shift in Chestnut Hill. Thanks."

He disconnected the phone and leaned back. Outside his car and above him, the sky seemed suddenly darker, as if all the black of night had been drawn over this particular section of the city. Kwon had difficulty determining where the sky ended and the shadowy groves of trees that lined the street began.

Always darkest just before the light, he thought with a grin.

I wonder who coined that term?

He started to think about it but then his request came up and he soon lost himself in the steady drumbeat of his favorite song.

Oblivious to the outside world.

And one of the shadows that started moving.

Curran stood outside of the interior door.

It opened.

Lauren stood there, hair dripping wet. Beads of water coated her exposed shoulders and neck. She was wrapped in a big terrycloth towel that ended just above her knees. Curran thought she looked amazing.

She smiled. “Good morning.”

“Hi.”

She stepped back. “Come in.”

Curran entered and saw how immaculate the house was. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find in a priest’s home. A tall thin hall table contained mail in a neat pile. Keys lay next to it. A small lamp with a rice paper shade was on, casting a soft glow over the entranceway. Curran saw wet footsteps drying on the hardwood floors.

He nodded toward the interior. “You were in the shower. I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep after I spoke to you.”

Curran nodded. He shifted from foot to foot. “Where’s Father Jim?”

“He had to go out of town tonight. Unexpectedly. I’m here alone.”

“You should have called me. You shouldn’t be alone. Not with that guy Darius doing what he’s doing.”

She leaned against the doorway, seemingly oblivious to the cool air. “Well, you’re here now.”

“Yeah.”

Lauren frowned. “Steve, are you all right?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah. I’m okay. Why?”

“Because you’re here about four hours too soon.”

“Yeah.” Curran nodded. “I am. I had to see you.”

She smiled. “You’ve seen me.”

Curran grinned. “You look great.”

“I’m in a towel, Steve. I’m dripping wet.”

“The look suits you.”

She shifted now. “Steve, I really need to get dried off — “

But the words stopped coming from her mouth because Curran had suddenly grabbed her and planted his mouth on her, kissing her for the first time.

Kwon shivered. A gust of wind rocked his car a little. It swayed from side to side and then settled back down again.

He thought about turning the engine over and getting a little heat. He didn’t want to do that too soon and risk waking up the cops further down the street.

I can’t sit here and freeze, though, he thought.

A cold breeze wafted in through his vents as another gust rocked the car. Kwon felt the cold air crawl over him, tickling the hairs on his arms. The breeze wafted up his back, teasing his hair.

Kwon’s teeth chattered.

“Damn, it’s cold in here.”

If it kept getting colder, he’d have to take a leak soon.

Another breeze caught the car in its grasp.

Kwon slapped his arms against his upper body and finally frowned. “Freak it.” He reached and turned the keys in the ignition. The Nissan turned over and instantly, a surge of hot air billowed out of the vents.

Kwon smiled.

Let the cold try to get him now, he thought.

“Steve,” said Lauren when he finally broke the seal.

“Don’t say anything,” he said. “I’ve wanted that for too long.”

She stared at him.

Curran took her face in his hands, cupping the back of her head and kissing her again. She moved into his arms, pressing herself into his body.

Curran tasted the fresh scent of shower on her. He traced his mouth down her neck, kissing and lapping up the water beading on her skin.

She sighed.

Moaned.

He moved up toward her lips again. Kissing and nuzzling.

She lapped at his mouth with her tongue. Tentative at first, then stronger as she relaxed.

Curran felt her almost drop into him. Her lips moved back toward his ear, whispering kissing and softly licking his skin.

Curran let his fingers dance down the back of her neck, rubbing her shoulders through the towel. She moaned again, pressing her leg in between his, feeling the pulsing hardness of his excitement.

She licked his neck again.

Curran kissed her neck, pulled her back away from him, looked into her eyes.

“I love you,” he said, his voice a thick velvet whisper in the predawn dark.

Even though the hot air had stilled the urgings of his bladder, Kwon knew it was time to pay heed to nature’s demands. He zipped up his coat and made sure his interior light wouldn’t turn on when he exited the car.

He unlocked the door.

His hand grasped the door release and he slid out into the cold night air. It enveloped him.

Absolutely.

As he walked away from his car, the shadows drew back and then encircled him, almost like a giant mouth about to enjoy an early breakfast.

The towel slid off as if it hadn’t even been there.

They walked, tripped, stumbled back toward the bedroom, Curran almost landing on top of Lauren as they hit the sheets.

Curran could smell the sweat she must have woken up in.

She kissed him hard, her tongue invading his mouth, searching for his own and then entwining itself around it as their juices swirled.

Her hands fumbled further south, searching his belt buckle and then struggling to get it undone. Curran kept kissing her.

She got his snap undone.

Then the fly.

In the hushed frenzy of their passion, the zipper coming undone sounded loud. They both smiled and then continued.

Curran kicked off his shoes.

Lauren ripped his pants off.

He knelt down, seeing her breasts heave as she sat there tugging at the waistband of his jockey shorts. He bent his mouth over the nipple of her left breast, suckled it, licking her areola softly. She arched her back and pulled him onto her breast then moved his head to the right one.

Her fingers reaching down traced the outline of his penis through his shorts.

He moaned, feeling himself grow harder by the second.

And when she freed him, the cold air only made him more eager to feel her surround him.

“Steve,” she said hoarsely.

He lay on top of her, kissing his way down her stomach, licking at a small deposit of water by her navel, tasting the outline of her stomach muscles. He moved down more at last coming to the tuft of light brown hair above her mound.

His nose brushed by it as he opened his mouth and kissed her down there, again softly at first.

Lauren moaned and let her hands find the back of his head. She pulled him onto her moistness entirely.

Curran let his tongue slip inside.

And Lauren let herself fall over the edge of ecstasy.

Jesus Christ, it’s colder than hell out here, thought Kwon.

He stood appraising the locale. Where should he relieve himself?

The closest neighbor had a few shrubs he could stand behind. But they’d only conceal him halfway. He needed a stand of trees or something big like that to hide himself in.

Not that he expected anyone to be awake. Around three o’clock in the morning most humans would be at their deepest levels of sleep. He doubted very much anyone would be awake and looking out their windows.

But he glanced around again, just to be sure.

What about demons? Did they sleep, too?

Darius’ house had a huge grove of oaks next door. Some of the branches still had leaves on them, too. The safety of their thick trunks seemed to beckon him.

Almost poetic justice, thought Kwon with a grin as he trotted across the street.

Almost.

On the bed, Lauren lost count of how many was they’d lain on top of each other. She wrapped her legs around Curran, never wanting the incredible sensations she felt to end.

He looked down into her eyes from somewhere high above, thrusting himself into her. She cried out involuntarily as she felt herself building once again to orgasm.

His eyes dripped lust and love into her own.

She pulled him down, kissing him, licking him, urging him on.

The stream of piss waned to a mere dribble, steam rising from the hot jet of yellow. Kwon sighed.

Thank God, he thought.

The wind roared around him. Cold flooded his body.

What th-?

Another gust of wind tore up the ground around him. Dirt flew in his eyes. Tears streamed down his face. He slid his penis back inside his pants and tugged up the zipper. Time to get back to the warmth of his car.

He wiped his eyes.

And saw someone standing before him.

Oh crap.

Darius.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Kwon bent his knees slightly. He was closer than he should have been able to get. Almost in range for a kick. How did he get so close to me without me hearing him?

He shifted his body weight back slightly. He could arc a kick up fast now.

If he needed to.

Kwon smiled. “Just out for a quick relief.”

“Did Curran leave you here all alone?” He clucked twice. “That’s a shame.”

Kwon felt adrenaline begin to drip into his bloodstream. His respirations came faster. He still doesn’t look like a demon, he decided.

Darius smiled. “I don’t do I?” He backed up and let the ambient glow from the sodium bulbs down the street backlight him. “Well, I can change that.”

He reads minds-? Kwon frowned, but already forgot about it as Darius began to change.

And the horror of what he truly was began to show.

Curran grunted, thrusting harder now in a rapid succession.

Lauren broke the kiss, gasping for breath.

Sucking wind.

She gritted her teeth, lolled her head back against the damp sheets underneath them, felt her body tense and go liquid heat between her legs.

Curran didn’t stop.

He kept thrusting himself into her.

Hilting at every advance.

His eyes rolled back.

His body stiffened.

And then Lauren felt the sudden explosion of his own moisture deep inside her walls, heard him crying softly, whispering her name as they both tumbled falling falling falling into orgasm.

The demon stood before him, its stench bubbling off him in waves that made Kwon want to retch and gag like never before.

He held his hands up.

So this was how it would be.

Kwon looked beyond the hulking mass before him at the cop car. His mouth opened to shout but at the same time, a giant roar of wind erupted around him, drowning out his shout.

Kwon tried twice more and each time, the winds drowned out his shouts.

He wouldn’t get any help from the police.

Kwon shifted into a fighting stance. The change came over him as easily as he drew a breath. Years of hard training had tuned his instincts well.

But he’d never fought a demon before.

The demon’s voice rumbled out of its cavernous chest, a growling guttural tongue filled with disgust. “As if you could harm me, mortal.”

Kwon let his rage fill him. “I won’t die easily.”

“But you will die.” It moved then, so fast, that Kwon barely had a chance to register it. A single misshapen claw reached out across the darkness and found his left forearm. Thick-yellowed nails scored his flesh, drawing blood. Kwon could smell the abrupt snap of copper tang in the air.

My blood, he thought.

He ducked and came inside, lashing out with a front kick at the juncture of the demon’s legs. Did demons have balls, he wondered as the kick sank into the crotch.

Apparently not. It did little to affect him.

A throaty laugh filled the air. “Pitiful.”

Kwon redoubled his attack, launching a roundhouse kick that he used to wind momentum up and then arc a back spinning hook kick that landed his heel flush on the side of the demon’s mouth. A sharp crack sounded and a bit of gore shot out of the demon’s mouth.

A tooth?

Kwon grinned. There! He’d managed to score a hit.

But the demon merely moved closer, arms dragging on the ground until they shot out straight at Kwon.

Too many, he thought. He blocked the right but the left landed hard in his solar plexus. Wind rushed out of him. He gasped.

Retched as the foul smell swept over him.

Felt one of the demon’s hands lift him up into the air. Branches above him scraped at his head. Kwon struggled to kick and punch his way free as the demon’s fingers closed around his midsection.

Kwon’s thoughts came at him fast now. How big were his fingers that they could wrap around his midsection? He couldn’t fathom it.

The demon laughed.

And brought Kwon’s face close to its own. Kwon tried to pull away. He could see the grimy teeth that looked like they were rotting out of their bloody stumps. The mouth suddenly seemed enormous.

The demon brought him eye level and considered him. “Your time is now at an end, mortal.”

Kwon kicked out again, catching him in the mouth. He felt a tooth bite through the fabric of his jeans and into the soft flesh of his foot. He screamed.

Prayed it would be enough to wake someone — anyone up.

“They will not awaken.” The demon pulled him closer. “And neither will you. Ever again.”

Kwon felt himself hoisted skyward again. There was a rush and then his stomach exploded as the demon’s claws bore their way into his intestines, shredding and disemboweling him in an awful rush of blood, feces, and organs.

Kwon screamed once more.

But only for a moment.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Curran watched the sunlight filter through the white lace curtains in the small bedroom where he and Lauren had shared a blissful few hours of passion. Outside the window, the winds had died down. The branches had stopped beating against the glass.

And nestled in the crook of his arm, Lauren slept. She breathed easily, the warmth of her body radiating out from her. Each time she breathed, Curran could feel the hairs along his arms lift and fall in time to the rise and fall of her chest.

He sighed.

Content at last.

He risked a look down at the beauty next to him. Everything about her seemed so incredibly perfect. Curran squeezed her into him a bit more. What have I don to be this lucky?

He grinned. If Kwon could see me now. I owe that guy a drink. Hell, I’ll buy a round for everyone.

Curran’s eyes felt drawn to the sun dawning outside. It seemed like this was the first morning in over a week that he’d woken up to something besides rain and wind. It wasn’t, of course, but the abundance of wind and cold and rain had almost drowned out his memories of warm weather.

Not today. The sunlight spoke of promise. A new beginning.

Curran nodded, mostly to himself. It was a new day. And it was time to make sure that the beauty of the sun had a chance to shine on earth for a long time to come.

That meant dealing with the Soul Eater.

His jaw hardened.

His muscles flexed a bit.

Time to take care of Darius.

Lauren shifted, feeling his small motions. She turned over, her breasts brushing against his skin. Curran’s nerves responded by firing off a volley of impulses. Not all of them went to his brain.

She smiled. Aware. “Good morning.”

He kissed her on the lips. “Hi.”

She came up on his chest, burying her face in his neck. He felt her hair and the warmth of her hands. He hugged her.

“Some night.”

Curran nodded. “That might be the biggest understatement of the century.”

“The century just started. There’s still time to find a new winner.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s past seven?”

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t you say you were going to relieve Kwon at seven?”

“I did. But I’m not concerned about the time.”

She lifted herself up, breasts draped over him. “No?”

Curran stared. “It was his idea that I come over here last night. I asked him if he minded me getting over there a little later today. He didn’t.”

Lauren’s hands found their way around his neck. She pulled his chin up so their eyes met. “I like a man who looks at me when he’s talking.”

Curran smiled. “You didn’t exactly make it easy to choose.”

Her hands snaked down his chest, tracing useless patterns in his hair. A few inches lower and she smiled. “I guess I did make it hard on you.”

Curran closed his eyes. “This is the best morning of my life.”

She kissed him on his neck, fingers still busy elsewhere. “Compliments at such an early hour?”

“It seemed appropriate.”

She moved off to his side, suddenly breaking the physicality of the moment. He glanced at her. “What’s wrong?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Did I do something?”

She shook her head. “No.” She turned toward the windows. “Sun. At last.”

“Nice to see it again, huh?”

She sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured spending my time in the house of a priest.”

“Well, I certainly feel reborn.” Curran eased out of bed and began sliding into his clothes.

Lauren glanced at him. “Don’t make light of the situation, Steve.”

“I’m not.” He sat down next to her. “Lauren, I had an absolutely incredible time with you. If it was up to me, I’d spend every moment of my life with you like that.”

She tried to smile but it didn’t take. “I suppose we can’t live our lives that selfishly, huh?”

Curran frowned. “Sure seems like everyone else does on this planet.”

“Maybe that’s the problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe everyone else spends far too much time worrying about themselves when we all ought to be spending some time looking after other people. Isn’t that why we’re in such trouble?”

“You think this can be tied back to the Soul Eater?”

“Why not?” She frowned. “It’s because most of society could give a damn less about anyone besides their own self-interests that evil springs up in the first place. If we could reorient the way people think. Get them to consider the lives of others, not just their own — maybe we could make a real big difference.”

“That’s a pretty huge task.”

She nodded. “Just another item for my list.”

“Your list?”

“I’ve got a list of things I want to accomplish at some point in my life.”

Curran slid his shirt on. “That must be some kind of list.”

Lauren started dressing. Curran couldn’t help himself. His eyes stayed glued to her. The way she bent over to slid her panties on, the way she carefully eased her breasts into her bra, the way the turtleneck came on first followed by a pair of jeans. All of it seemed so…incredible.

She stopped and turned suddenly. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“Today.”

“What about it?”

“It’s been forty-eight hours, Steve. Sister McDewey will be planning to let the Cardinal know about the Soul Eater’s presence. We have to get to the demon first!”

Crap. The last thing Curran wanted was Church involvement. Not now. Not when things seemed to be going so well with Lauren.

“Can we stall them anymore?”

Lauren shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll head over to the school and see what I can do.”

“I’ll drop you off, okay?”

She nodded. “We can grab breakfast on the way.”

Curran slid his holster onto his belt. “Let me call Kwon.” He reached for his cell phone but at that minute, the phone began buzzing against the wooden nightstand. Curran hit the talk button.

“Yeah?”

He listened for thirty seconds. His stomach dropped like a cinder block dumped off a skyscraper.

Breathing became difficult.

He could see Lauren looking at him. Concern had already scored her face.

Curran hung up the phone.

“Steve?”

Breathe.

God.

No.

“Steve?”

No.

He looked at her. His eyes felt hot. They stung. “Lauren…”

“What is it?”

“Kwon.”

She shook her head, already pulling away. “No.”

He nodded. “He’s…dead.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Curran stared down at the sheet covering his best friend for a long time. Above him, a dark charcoal ooze settled across the sky, drowning out the earlier sunlight. Curran sighed and knelt down on the bumpy cold ground.

It shouldn’t have gone down like this, he thought. Not for someone like Kwon. Not for my friend.

He sighed again feeling like all the weight of the universe had settled on his lungs. But no matter how much he exhaled, he’d never be free from it.

He turned the sheet down to just below Kwon’s neck.

His friend’s eyes stared up at him from behind the wall of death. Curran didn’t turn the sheet down any more. He’d already been told there wasn’t much to see beyond the ghastly damage that had been wrought on Kwon’s lower torso.

Curran looked up in the direction of Darius’ house. There was no doubt in his mind who’d killed Kwon. But trying to explain that to the two Chestnut Hill cops on duty would be fruitless. After all, according to them, it didn’t even look like whoever had killed Kwon had been human, such was the damage.

If Curran told them they were sitting outside the home of a demon, he didn’t think it would go down all that well. Not to mention how fast it would spread back to headquarters.

He shook his head. No. This was going to have to be played differently.

By a new set of rules.

Lauren stood close by, shifting from foot to foot. Nervous. Sad. She hadn’t known Kwon like Curran did, but he knew she felt bad for his loss.

He lifted the sheet back over Kwon’s face and let the crime scene folks get back to work. He wandered over to Lauren.

“I’m so sorry, Steve.”

“Yeah.”

“Darius did it.”

Curran looked away. “Dammit, he was a good man. More than that. He was my friend.”

“His death doesn’t undo any of that, Steve.”

“Yeah, but it sure as hell didn’t matter on bit to the man upstairs either. Why did Kwon have to die? Why did he have to be the one who got killed by this freak? He was a good man. He didn’t deserve this. I got him into it. I should be lying on that grass instead of him. But I’m not.” He punched his hand. “I’m not.”

Lauren placed a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t go beating yourself up about this, Steve. We need to focus on what’s happened here. How we can stop Darius now.”

He turned around. “All we’ve been doing is focusing on this damned asshole. All I’ve done is chase that miserable scumbag from one end of this country to the other. I tried to give him up — put him behind me — and what happens? He comes here. He kills my best friend.”

“He brought us together,” said Lauren quietly.

Curran lit a cigarette and sucked hard on the butt. “You saying some good comes out of every evil?”

“Something like that.”

Curran frowned. “I understand the sentiment, but I just can’t accept it right now. Kwon oughta be alive, dammit. And he’s not.”

“Steve.”

Curran turned and saw one of the Chestnut Hill cops waving him over toward the grove of trees a little bit away from the crime scene.

Curran walked over. “Yeah?”

“You got something you want to tell me about all this?”

Curran looked at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The cop nodded. “Yeah, I figured you’d say something like that.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

The cop tugged on Curran’s arm and they walked back into the grove of trees. Then he turned to Curran. “Look, I don’t know exactly what the hell went on here last night. And I don’t know that I’m going to really press you on why the Boston ME was sitting in a car by himself late last night on what looks suspiciously like some sort of unauthorized surveillance mission.” He eyed Curran.

“Go on.”

The cop nodded. “What I do know is that a man got killed — “ He shook his head. “ — ain’t no way for a man to die. Not like that.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Hang on.”

Curran stopped. The cop held out his hand and Curran shook it. As he did so, he felt something pressed into his palm. He didn’t look down.

“I found that on the grass a little bit ago. I don’t know what the hell you’re looking for. Your friend seems to have found something, though. More to the point, he apparently caused a little damage before he got killed.”

Curran resisted the urge to look at his palm.

“Save it for the car ride out of here. You and the lady are gone. I don’t want to see you around here anymore. You got a beef with that guy Darius, I suggest you wait until we’ve cleaned up the crime scene and gotten the hell out of here. I don’t want any of my guys coming to the sort of end your friend did. We cool?”

Curran nodded. “Thanks Jim.”

“Forget it.” He clapped Curran on the shoulder. “I hope you get the chance to put that asshole down. Hard.”

So do I, thought Curran. So do I.

He walked back to Lauren. She looked at him. “Everything okay?”

“We’re done here.” Curran headed to the car and slid in behind the wheel. Lauren climbed in next to him.

“Steve-“

He held up his hand and looked at it. There, in the center of his palm, sat a long triangular piece of…bone? Curran frowned. It was yellow near the tip. By the fracture line, bits of rot clung to the darkened enamel.

A tooth.

Darius’ tooth.

But it was too big to be human.

Lauren leaned over. “Did Kwon do that?”

“Seems that way.”

She picked up the tooth and sniffed it. “God, it reeks.”

“It must have come from Darius.”

Lauren handed the tooth back to him. “It’s too big for a human mouth.”

“Maybe Darius wasn’t Darius when he attacked Kwon. Maybe he changed into the demon.”

“Kwon fought a demon?”

Curran almost smiled. “That was one brave sonofabitch.” He sighed again. “I’ll miss him tremendously.”

Lauren glanced at the dashboard clock. “I’m sorry to bring this back up but I’ve got to get over to Brighton if I have any hope of trying to stall the Archdiocese from making some sort of preemptive statement about all this.”

Curran snapped back to reality. “Yeah. Okay.” He turned the key in the ignition and cast a look out the windshield. At Darius’ house, he could have sworn he saw a curtain fall back into place.

Like he’d been watching them.

Probably real happy right now, thought Curran. Well, that’s fine. Enjoy it. Because the next time I come back, I’ll be bringing a whole world of agony on your ass.”

He slid the car into gear and turned around, heading back toward route 9.

Lauren cleared her throat. “Steve. Do you think he…you know…suffered?”

“I can’t imagine a psychopath like Darius making it an easy death on him. Especially after Kwon took out one of his teeth.”

Lauren bowed her head and began praying quietly next to Curran. He wanted to do the same, but grief wasn’t something he could afford right now. Later on, there’d be time for mourning his friend properly.

Right now, it was time to get some payback.

His cell phone rang and he picked it up. This better be good news, he thought.

“Curran.”

He listened. Scarcely able to believe what he was hearing. After thirty seconds he said simply, “Okay.”

Then he hung up.

Next to him, Lauren’s prayers had ended. She stared at him. “Steve? You okay?”

“That was dispatch. They’ve got another body.”

“Where?”

“Chinatown. Some sort of after-hours club run by the Tongs.” He shook his head. “First he kills Kwon and then he goes out and kills another victim.”

“Maybe that’s why he killed Kwon.”

“Because he couldn’t get past him and do his work unseen?”

Lauren shrugged. “Maybe.”

Curran frowned. “I find it tough to believe that Darius, as a demon or human, couldn’t snake his way past a few cops.” He shook his head. “No. Darius killed Kwon intentionally. He didn’t have to. He just did it to spite me. Us. And he certainly succeeded.”

“What happens now?”

“You go to Brighton. I go to Chinatown. Apparently this latest victim was some sort of Hmong warlord in Boston to negotiate new alliances with the local Chinese Mafia.”

“How do you know that?”

“State Department’s been all over it. This guy doubled as some sort of ambassador as well. Darius got past the Tongs and the Diplomatic Security guys assigned to protect this guy.”

“Is there anything he can’t do?” Lauren leaned against the door.

“Yeah,” said Curran. “He can’t kill my best friend and not expect me to come after him with every bit of firepower I have.”

“Guns won’t solve this, Steve.”

“You’re probably right. But I’ll do whatever I have to, to kill that bastard and make sure he never haunts anyone on this plane again.”

He gripped the steering wheel tighter as he sped down route 9 toward Boston. You hear me, demon? You hear me? I’m coming for you. And I won’t stop.

Not now.

Not ever.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Lauren hopped out of the car. “Call me in a few hours at Father Jim’s. I should be there by noon.”

Curran nodded and shot back out into traffic. Lauren watched him go and sighed. Heaven help the person who got in Steve’s way, she decided. Kwon’s death had affected him tremendously, even if the hardened cop only showed it a little bit. Lauren knew he was hurting on the inside in a bad way.

She walked back onto the campus and headed for the administration building and Sister McDewey’s office. Even though it was late morning, the sky hadn’t brightened any. Lauren thought it actually looked even darker than it had earlier.

She frowned.

Maybe Mother Nature knows something I don’t. She tried to laugh the thought off, but a part of her wondered how far off the mark she was. If at all.

As usual, the number of students on the campus grounds always appeared to be few. Most of them spent long hours tucked away in the cozy cushioned recesses of the library, noses burrowed in the pages of religious texts. The less time spent wandering out in the cold November days, the better.

Lauren knew she’d fallen behind in her own studies as well. After all, helping thwart Satan from coming back onto this plane wasn’t the kind of activity that would tailor itself around a schedule full of academic work.

She took the steps to the door of the building and tugged on the heavy door. It opened and a wave of warm air rushed over her, making her skin tingle slightly. She welcomed the change from the cold outside.

Lauren turned left and paused. The memory of Sister Donovan, even if they hadn’t known each other that well, still lingered. If not for her, thought Lauren, Steve and I wouldn’t have the first clue as to where to start with this thing.

Well, her and Graham Westerly.

The outer office was once again deserted. Apparently, Sister McDewey hadn’t found a replacement yet. Or perhaps she was honoring the memory of the deceased nun.

Lauren knocked on her door.

Sister McDewey’s voice rang out. “Come in.”

Lauren opened the door and stepped inside. The air in the office was noticeably colder. Sister McDewey regarded her. “Lauren.”

“Sister.”

“I’m afraid your forty-eight hours are up.”

Lauren nodded. “I’m here to ask for more time.”

“There’s no more time to give.”

“But we’re close.”

Sister McDewey leaned forward. “Close? How so?”

“We know who the Soul Eater is.”

Sister McDewey’s face lit up, almost in amusement. “Who?”

Lauren hesitated. Should she tell her? Would that unleash some uncontrollable Church intervention squad that would blast Darius’ name all over the press and send him into hiding? Not yet. She couldn’t afford to take the chance.

Instead, she said, “We need more time.”

“You don’t trust me? You won’t tell me what the name of the person is?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Sister. But I simply can’t take the risk of someone else letting the word slip. If he got wind that we knew and were coming for him, then he’d be able to run off and hide. We’d be back to zero and have to start the hunt all over again.”

“And you think someone from the Church would spill the beans, is that it?”

“Surely you can see how that might happen.”

Sister McDewey shrugged. “Perhaps. Regardless of whether you tell me who it is, or not, I must still inform the Archdiocese about your revelations.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

Sister McDewey sneered at her. “Well, we can’t always get what we wish for, now, can we?”

“I-“

“I gave you your forty-eight hours — which was more than generous of me to do so, by the way. I can’t wait any longer for you and your partner to try and end this thing. Neither of you have the training to dispel the Soul Eater anyway.”

“Who does?”

Sister McDewey fixed Lauren with a stare. “That’s a bit above your level of need-to-know.”

Lauren stared at Sister McDewey. “I find this a little hard to take. I didn’t think the Church had such an interest in the occult anymore. Especially with regards to Satanism.”

“The Church is always concerned with protecting its own interests. We have always had people available who know how to handle this. It’s not really your concern anymore.”

“So that’s it then?”

“I don’t think there’s much of anything else to say.”

Lauren stood there. Her knees felt stiff. She wanted to sit down. She wanted to beg for more time. There had to be something she could do to stall Sister McDewey. But what?

She shivered. “It’s freezing in here.”

Sister McDewey frowned. “Don’t try to get off-topic here, Lauren. The answer is no. I will not give you anymore time.” She took off her glasses. “Besides, it’s not like you or that silly Curran had a chance against someone like the Soul Eater anyway.”

Lauren bit her lip. How dare she say that about Steve. How dare she-

She stopped.

“You said his name.”

Sister McDewey looked up from the papers on her desk. “What?”

“You said Steve’s name.”

“So what?”

“I never mentioned it before.”

“Didn’t you?”

Lauren’s tongue felt thick. “No.”

“I’m sure you did.” Sister McDewey stood up.

Lauren shivered again. “I don’t think so.”

Sister McDewey smiled. “Oh well, maybe I heard it someplace else.”

Sister McDewey suddenly seemed taller than Lauren remembered. “I didn’t tell anyone else about him. No one knows.”

Sister McDewey came around the desk. “Really? How utterly fascinating.”

The voice. It was changing. Lauren backed up. Slowly. Her feet didn’t seem to want to move.

As she watched, Sister McDewey’s features began to change. Her shoulders broadened. Her eyes seemed to melt into stone. Her jaw squared off.

“Is everything all right, Lauren? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No.” Lauren shook her head. “What did you do with her?”

“Do with who, dear?”

“Sister McDewey. The real Sister McDewey.”

He looked a little silly standing there in the habit. Darius faced Lauren and tore off the cowl. “I’m rather surprised I was able to stand being dressed like for as long as I was. Normally the feel of such material makes me want to vomit.”

Lauren felt the door press into her back. She hadn’t realized she’d gotten this close to it. Her right hand fumbled behind her, trying to turn the knob.

Darius clucked his tongue. “No, I don’t think you’ll be going out there today. I’ve got something else in mind for you, sweetheart.”

Lauren shook her head and tried to scream. Her throat closed down. A tiny squeak broke out before everything seemed to lose focus.

The last image that raced through her mind was of Darius coming toward her.

Hands already outstretched.

Reaching.

Grabbing.

And then…contact.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Curran sighed as he reached Kneeland Street and saw the throng of blue and white police cruisers, navy blue government Fords, a Chevy Suburban war wagon for the State Department Security team, and even more cameras and reporters from the local media outlets.

Who the hell was this guy anyway? Curran slowed his car and paused to flash his badge at the uniform holding the tape up. He drove through and parked. Probably the only time I can find parking in Chinatown, he mused, is when there’s a body to look at.

Outside the car, a thunderous roar greeted his ears. Fortunately, no one knew who he was, so he passed the paparazzi gauntlet without incident.

#1011 was a gambling den. Curran knew that much from talking the vice cops. Chinatown might be barely under one square mile, but it housed over two dozen illegal gambling dens where Mah Jong and various other games brought in pounds of money for the Tongs that controlled the Chinatown underworld.

Back in the 1980s, the Hong Kong Chinese gangs Ping On and Gung Ho had ruled Chinatown with an iron fist. The dividing line used to run along Tai Tung Village, a housing community controlled by Gung Ho. Ping On was headed by a charismatic Hong Kong native named Stephen Tsa who eventually fled back to the British Colony to avoid impending federal indictments. Gung Ho, which had never really been more than a bunch of souped-up high school ruffians, collapsed under its own power struggles, leaving a vacuum in the underbelly of Chinatown.

The Vietnamese stepped in to fill the void.

Originally entrenched further north of Boston in towns like Lowell and Gloucester, the Vietnamese gangs had descended like hungry vultures when they’d sensed the opportunity.

Themselves little more than high school kids, the Vietnamese gangs were different than the Chinese, though. Whereas the Chinese could be violent if need be, the Vietnamese gang members embraced violence as the only way of doing business. Refugees from Vietnam and accustomed to seeing the savage horror of war, they had little regard for life. They would simply shoot to kill anyone who stood in their way.

Predictably, it took only three months of localized Armageddon to bring Chinatown firmly under their rule.

Curran walked down the steps to what at first appeared to be merely a basement apartment.

Inside was a different story.

The gambling den stretched before him. Circular wooden tables and rickety chairs now without players in them, stood silently. The den was low on amenities. People didn’t come here for luxury. Overflowing ashtrays and a thick layer of cigarette smog that clung just below the ceiling testified that most of the men who played here smoked like chimneys.

Curran moved through the den, dodging various police and government officials.

His destination lay beyond the den itself.

Through a doorway, Curran entered another world altogether.

And this one had plenty of luxury to offer. Provided you had the money.

The after-hours club run by the Tongs seemed to stretch on forever, but Curran could see the opposite walls were simply mirrored to give that impression.

“Steve?”

He turned. A young woman stood before him. She wore a jacket that identified her as a worker at the medical examiner’s office.

Kwon’s office, thought Curran. He felt a heavy tug on his heart.

“Yeah?”

“My name’s Alicia Briggs. I’m…was…Dr. Kwon’s assistant.” She sighed. “Sorry. We’re all still shocked at the news.”

“Yeah.” Shocked wasn’t the word Curran would have used. Kicked in the nuts and left for dead fit how he felt better.

“I know he was your best friend.”

Curran nodded. “A man like that doesn’t come along too often. I’m proud to say he was my friend.”

Alicia gestured at the club’s interior. “Obviously, due to the state of things, I’m heading up the autopsy on this victim.”

Curran almost wanted to laugh. What would she say when she saw the brain? “Where’s the body?”

“Men’s room.”

Curran looked at her. She pointed. “Come on.”

They threaded their way past a host of uniforms taking statements from club workers who apparently didn’t speak much English. More crime scene techs took photos of the interior from various angles. The whir of camera motors, bright flashes of strobes, and din of a million voices made Curran’s head hurt. He almost felt claustrophobic.

Alicia tugged on his sleeve. “In here.”

The bathroom was a simple two-stall job. Nothing fancy. A crummy old sink with worn handles and tarnished fixtures dripped in time to the beating of Curran’s heart.

On the floor, already in the body bag, Curran could see the Asian man. He looked about fifty. Lean. A thin mustache crested his upper lip. His hair bristled short.

“Way we found him,” said Alicia, “he was sitting on the toilet with his pants down. We figure he came in here to do his business and maybe had a massive MI on the throne.”

“That what you think?”

She nodded. “Sure seems that way.”

Curran ducked into the neighboring stall. He stooped and checked the clearance of the board separating the two stalls. If he was Darius and needed to get contact with this guy, how would he do it?

“That you, Steve?”

He looked up. Jesus Christ. Not him. Not here. Not now.

Frank Krause.

“Frank.”

Krause had aged since he’d been Curran’s superior at the FBI. Thirty pounds extra weight gave him a slightly bloated appearance around the waist. His chin had a few offspring. And his receding hairline had relocated to his back by the look of it.

Krause pumped his hand once. “Good to see you. I heard you were with BPD Homicide.”

“No thanks to you.”

Krause shrugged. “You still sore about getting the boot? I would have thought a guy like you have let that die a long time ago.”

Curran sniffed. “Yeah, well, I would have, but you’re still breathing apparently.” He patted Krause’s stomach. “Although that may not be for much longer by the look of it.”

“Freak you, too.”

“You with State now?”

“Easier life for the most part. I head up the local DSS squad. Most of the time I’m on the road. I just got transferred here a month back or I would have rung you up.”

Lucky me, thought Curran. “You got some dirt on the deceased?”

Krause looked at Alicia who was bent over the body bag checking something. “Hey, sweetheart?”

“Dr. Briggs,” said Alicia standing. “What do you want?”

“Do me a favor and take a walk for a second while I chat with Curran here, would you? We’ve got some stuff to discuss.”

Alicia frowned, looked at Curran who nodded once, and left. Krause leaned back against the wall and lit as cigarette. He offered one to Curran who took it and let his old superior light it for him. Curran inhaled and blew out a stream of smoke.

“So?”

Krause spat on the floor. He nodded at the bag. “This guy here, lemme tell you — a real piece of work.”

“Someone told me he was a Hmong.”

“Come down from the mountains, sure as crap,” said Krause. “Real bastard of a guy. He was an asset of our friends down in Langley for a while.”

“Those are your friends, Krause. Not mine.”

“Hey, c’mon pal, you used to be with the Bureau. You know the rivalry we’ve always had with the spooks.”

“Get to the point, will you? I’ve got work to do.”

“Okay, okay. Guy’s name was Chung. Did a lot of heavy dealing in opium and heroin. One of these jungle warlords straight off the Golden Triangle. Started out as some type of freedom fighter and gave it up when he saw how lucrative drugs could be. Rumor is he slaughtered something on the order of thousands in his rise to power. Including women and children.” Krause took another long drag on his cigarette and Curran did the same.

But somehow the cigarette didn’t taste that good.

“One of Uncle Sam’s DEA boys filed a field report that said this guy used to bury his enemies in the ground up to their neck and then pour honey all over their heads.” He glanced at Curran. “You know what honey attracts over in Cambodia?”

Curran sighed. “I don’t know, Krause. Ants?”

“Yeah, but not your ordinary picnic-disrupters. Soldier ants. Ever hear of them?”

“Vaguely.”

“Chung used to get his rocks off watching the ants crawl all over his victims — into their mouths, noses, and ears — and start eating their way from the inside out. You imagine going like that? I’d pull the trigger myself before I let that happen to me. I hear it takes almost two days to die like that. Eaten alive from the inside out. Thousands of those ants swarming all over you. Biting. Ripping. Bleeding. Screaming. Jesus freaking Christ.” He shook his head. “Sick crap.”

Curran sighed. “Anything else?”

“Had another hobby this guy. He used to kidnap and impregnate poor teen-age girls. Five months into the pregnancy, he’d cut out the fetuses with a rusty hand scythe and throw the bodies of both the girl and her unborn child to a pack of ravenous dogs. By last count, he’d done it almost two dozen times.”

Curran’s stomach churned. His ground the cigarette out against the mildewed tile wall and faced Krause again. “What in God’s name is this putrid freak doing in Boston?”

Krause grinned. “Ain’t that just like our good ol’ gov’mint? Making friends with the very people we ought to be killing. But that’s what we did. CIA took him in under their wing. In exchange for information on Soviet activities in the eighties, we shielded him. And then, wouldn’t you know it, this piece of crap decided he wants to get into politics. Fixed some local elections and winds up in a cabinet position. Works his way into an ambassadorship. That’s where State comes in.”

“Still doesn’t answer what he was doing here.”

“Well, old habits, you know, they die hard. Chung still had both hands in the drug trade. Guess you can’t make much of a living doing civil service work over in Asia, neither. Go figure.”

“He was here to deal drugs?”

“Way we figure, he had some contacts with the VC boys here in town. Maybe a new deal going down. I don’t know.” He grinned. “Don’t make much difference now, does it? He just ended up dying. Makes my job a helluva lot easier, I’ll tell you that.”

“Glad to hear it’s worked out so well for you.”

Krause grinned. “You’re gonna get stuck with this case?”

“ME thinks it’s a heart attack. Who am I to argue?”

“They call you down here for a potential heart attack?”

“Precaution.”

Krause smiled. “My ass. Someone thinks this is a homicide. Better hope that fancy pants doc can make it look natural. Save you an awful lot of heartache trying to figure out who did it.”

I already know, thought Curran. And even still, it wouldn’t make things any easier.

He glanced down at Chung. Soldier ants, knocking up little girls, and killing the unborn — that just about made Chung the most evil thing Curran had ever come across.

No wonder Darius wanted him.

And in that instant, his stomach dropped with sudden revelation.

There’d be no more bodies like this.

Chung was the last. The most evil. With his soul, Darius — the Soul Eater — would have the last of what he needed.

And the resurrection would begin.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Darkness surrounded her.

Her eyes, now fully open, could make out nothing of the room she lay in. She tried flexing her arms again. They were bound fast. The same with her legs. Even turning her head produced pain from the edges of whatever she lay within.

Darius.

The demon.

She could hear his voice as he had touched her.

“You cannot stop me. You have not the power to do so. And now your time has come; your hour of service is at hand.”

In the periphery of her vision, her eyes had seen the two feet of the real Sister McDewey. Lauren cursed herself silently feeling like some naive Little Red Riding Hood who’d shown up too late at Grandma’s house.

She’d seen Darius’ hands then. At first glance they appeared normal but as he drew down the distance between them, she could see the skin changing. Thick scales broke out along the surface while underneath thick tendons and ligaments flexed and undulated like giant unseen tidal fluxes.

Her stomach had lurched — ready to retch — as his hands came closer.

She tried to back up but could go no further. And then they touched her, the cold seeping into her skin. Into her mind. Into her soul.

And blackness had swallowed her.

Lauren had thought she was dead. She’d thought this would be it.

But she didn’t feel dead. Just lost.

And scared.

The room she was in was cold. She could tell her clothes were gone and yet something else covered her body. A simple one-piece robe of sorts perhaps. Nothing too substantial since she could feel a cold draft wafting throughout the room that penetrated the robe as easily as if she was naked.

What did he want with her? She wasn’t evil. How could she figure into his plan? Did he need her soul for some depraved part of his resurrection plan? Perhaps he intended to eat her.

She shivered, suddenly realizing the weight of her own thoughts as they tumbled over her in rapid succession, a veritable avalanche of doom.

Where was Steve?

Chinatown.

She sighed and tried to flex again. Useless. Whatever type of restraints held her, they were solid and unyielding.

There’d be no way for her to escape.

Unless she had help.

She thought back to seeing Darius when she’d been asleep. But she hadn’t been asleep at all. She’d traveled out of her body.

That had been an unconscious move on her part. She hadn’t set out to do it. She wondered if it was possible to do the same thing again.

Another draft swept over her, a rising tide of imminence. Time grew short. Either she got help or she’d die here.

Or worse.

She closed her eyes and tried to reach out with her mind.

Steve.

In her mind’s eye she saw him as a sketchy figure. She concentrated on making him as fully realized as she could. She mentally added in details after details, down to the smallest item she could recall.

Making love with him had helped emblazon his physical details in her mind. She drew on those memories now to help flesh him out as best she possibly could. Gradually, he started becoming whole within her mind. Two-dimensional at first, she made sure she turned him over and over until he was almost real

Almost as if he’d actually been there.

I need you, Steve.

I need you now!

Curran shivered again as another cold breeze washed over him. He cranked the heater and frowned. The cold had been more than just a temperature in the course of this case. When this is over, he thought, I’m moving to the equator.

Maybe he could take Lauren with him.

He grabbed his cell phone and punched in the number to Father Jim’s house. The phone rang.

And rang.

He checked his watch.

She ought to be home by now.

“I should be there by noon.”

Her words.

The ringing continued.

His dashboard clock read 12:45.

He disconnected.

And shivered.

Traffic began moving again. Curran shot down Commonwealth Avenue and then halted by the Burger King that stayed open later than any other in the city. More traffic.

He sighed.

Lauren.

She’d been amazing in bed this morning. Curran almost grinned. If she’d been holding anything back, it sure hadn’t seemed like it. Her appetite was voracious. They’d sweated their way through at least an hour of non-stop sticky aerobics.

I wouldn’t mind a repeat of that performance, he thought.

But would she?

Something about the way she seemed to give herself so totally to him this morning stuck in his head. Was that the only time she would do so? Would she leave him when this was all over? Would she go back to what she’d originally planned to do?

Would she become a nun after all?

Curran glanced down at the hair on his forearms. They still stood straight up.

He rubbed them down absently but they jumped back to life as if the entire car was surrounded by an electrical field.

Lauren.

His mind kept going to her.

He frowned again.

It got colder in the car.

Curran turned the heater on. But only cold air came out.

“What the hell-?”

Lauren.

He kept saying her name in his head. Why? Or was he really saying it at all? Curran got through two more traffic lights until he came to another stop. Another red light.

And still it remained cold inside his car.

And her name kept repeating in his mind.

Lauren.

Lauren.

Lauren.

Curran glanced down at the portable blue light, most of the unmarked BPD units used. It fed right into the cigarette lighter.

He looked back at the slow traffic. And glanced at the clock.

12:55pm.

It would take him easily another twenty minutes to reach Father Jim’s house in this traffic.

Lauren.

Curran sighed. “Hell with it.”

He jammed the end of the blue light into the cigarette lighter plug and slapped the light on his rearview mirror. He switched on the light and the siren wired into the car already. Instantly cars began parting, and more horns wailed as people tried to get out of his way.

“C’mon,” said Curran. “Move, move, move.”

More cars slid right. A minivan blocked his way. Curran cranked up the volume of the siren and at last the van moved. He shot through, slowed by the intersection by the grocery store and then shot up Commonwealth Avenue into Allston.

At Harvard Avenue, he hesitated but then kept going straight on. It would be easier to get to her by taking a left off of Commonwealth Avenue than trying to snake his way through the neighborhoods.

At last, he broke into the neighborhood where Father Jim lived. Curran switched off the siren as he drew up by the house.

Somehow in the daylight, it looked simply like another house.

There seemed nothing holy about it.

He hopped out, running for her front door.

Reached the door and yanked hard.

Stopped — locked.

“Crap!”

He stooped and examined the lock. It was a serious caliber deadbolt that would take too long to pick.

Curran frowned.

Time’s up.

He turned sideways and used his right elbow to bust through the pane of glass directly next to the lock. The glass shattered and sprinkled the inside floor.

So much for surprise, he thought.

He snaked his hand in and found the lock’s knob — turned it — and tore the door open.

Curran balled himself up and then crashed through the open doorway.

He brought the gun up and moved fast and carefully, bracing himself at doorways as he worked through the house.

He moved down the hall, checked out the living room.

Nothing.

He sidestepped toward the kitchen.

Empty.

Likewise for the bathroom.

He eased to the left side of the house.

Toward the bedroom.

His mind briefly filled with images of this early morning, of the incredible passion he’d shared with Lauren in there.

The door to the bedroom was closed.

Curran frowned.

He hugged the doorway.

Again, with one hand he gripped the doorknob.

And turned.

It was locked.

He bent again, trying to see through the keyhole. He couldn’t see through it in the fading daylight.

He stood back up.

Was she inside?

Was someone else in there with her?

No time left.

Curran placed himself opposite the door across the hallway. He clasped his gun in both hands by his chest, the muzzle leaning off toward his left.

He took a deep breath in.

And aimed a front stomp kick at the area just above the doorknob.

Kicked.

Crashed.

The door flung open.

Curran moved in.

Saw the bed.

Saw the sheets.

Sniffed Lauren’s perfume.

And then,

Saw nothing else in the room.

She wasn’t there.

He exhaled.

On the table next to the bed, he saw the leather-bound journal of Graham Westerly and grabbed it. He could feel the age of the journal, enclosed by the stiffened leather.

But where was Lauren?

“Can I help you?”

Curran spun and brought the gun up — aiming.

The priest jumped back raising his hands quickly. “Good Lord!”

Curran felt everything bleed out of him and he slumped back. “Sorry.”

“Who are you?”

“My name’s Curran. I’m a cop. Where’s Lauren?”

The priest lowered his hands. “You’re a friend of Lauren’s?”

Curran nodded. “You must be Father Jim.”

“That’s right.”

“Sorry about the gun.”

“This is something of a holy home, Detective. I’d hope you try not to draw your weapon too often in the house of God.”

“Never do,” said Curran. Because I’m never there. “Have you seen Lauren?”

Father Jim shook his head. “No. No I haven’t.”

“She said she’d be back by noon. She’s not here.”

“Where was she coming from?”

Curran frowned. “The divinity school, but she should have left there ages ago.”

“Well, she never returned here.”

The divinity school.

Damn.

His heart sank. Part of him knew he was already too late. He knew — somehow — that Darius already had her.

Curran ran from the house.

And behind him, he could hear Father Jim ask, “Who’s going to pay for my front door?”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Darkness bled across the sky by the time Curran finally reached Darius’ house back in Chestnut Hill. He gazed at it through the bug-splattered windshield, wondering what exactly was going on inside.

He would have rushed over this afternoon straightaway, but for reading the journal he’d found in Lauren’s room that urged him to wait.

Apparently, the Soul Eater’s quest cannot begin until after the moon

has risen on the night of its full waxing. It is at this time that the

Soul Eater is at once his most potent and most vulnerable.

Unfortunately, the journal failed to mention what the demon’s weaknesses were. Curran sighed and glanced at the house again. Overhead, the dark sky was bloated with angry rain clouds that threatened imminent downpours.

Or hail.

And maybe much worse.

His dashboard clock read 6pm.

I can’t wait any longer, thought Curran. Besides, who knew what calendar the demon operated on? By his calculations, it might be time to start things up right now.

Curran slid his pistol of if his shoulder holster and checked the chamber. He had two magazines as back-up, as well as a small.380 pistol strapped to his ankle holster. That only held six rounds. And he secretly doubted their effectiveness if three mags of 10mm stopping power couldn’t halt Darius’ advance.

Only one way to find out, he decided.

He got out of the car.

He mumbled a quick hope — was it a prayer — that Kwon’s spirit would be with him tonight. Curran was going to need all the help he could get.

He hoped surprise would be on his side. Maybe Darius thought Curran would drag a SWAT team and a hundred officers over here to his house with a lengthy standoff ensuing.

Not a goddamned chance, thought Curran. Not with what I’ve got to see done tonight.

He crept over by the side bushes. Shadows loomed deep from the branches that hung out into the pathway. Curran brushed by them, keeping his frame held low.

The clouds above began spitting at him. Cold splatters of rain drizzled down and quickly soaked through the shoulders of his jacket. Curran ignored the cold water seeping toward his skin and kept his eyes locked on the house.

No light spilled out of the windows. Darkness filled the interior.

Curran swallowed.

Even though he’d just been here the day before, the feeling now about the home seemed completely different. Yesterday it had felt merely…sinister.

But now, with Darius ready to unleash a horde of unholy evil, the entire frame seemed to radiate pure hatred and total evil.

Curran glanced overhead, but couldn’t see the moon. The obese clouds obscured its reflected light. But he knew it was there.

And tonight was the full moon.

Curran crept closer to the house.

A dog barking in a neighboring yard made his heart jump out of his chest. He stopped, breathed again, and then kept going.

He made the side porch.

Deja vu, he decided.

He bent to inspect the lock. It looked fresh. Darius had had the locks replaced today. A sturdier deadbolt barred his way now. It might keep out a lot of partially determined burglars.

But unfortunately for Darius, Curran was a lot more dedicated than most. He would get into the house and end everything that Darius intended to do here tonight.Curran brought out his lock picks and set to work.

There were more pins in this lock. Curran kept glancing up from his work, expecting someone at any moment to walk by and spot him, start screaming, and then ruin any chance he had of surprise.

But no one walked by.

No cars drove by.

The entire street seemed deserted. Perhaps subconsciously, all the inhabitants knew something evil was afoot.

Maybe they weren’t home from work yet.

Curran resumed picking the lock. Slowly, the pins fell into place. After the sixth pin, Curran applied tension and heard the sound he was waiting for.

He slowly turned the doorknob.

The door clicked opened.

Curran replaced his lock picks in his jacket. He withdrew his gun.

Staying low, he eased the door open, praying it wouldn’t squeak.

It didn’t.

An inkier darkness bled out of the house flooding the porch. Curran looked inside and could see nothing. He’d have to go by memory alone if he didn’t want to bang into furniture and let the demon know he’d arrived.

He stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him. No sense locking it, he decided. If he and Lauren needed to get out in a hurry, it would be better to have it unlocked. Plus, he doubted Darius would care much about it. He’d hopefully be too absorbed in bringing his Dark Lord on to this plane.

Curran crept through the hall toward the kitchen. His thigh muscles ached from stooping low.

Curran heard his own breathing and slowed it down, trying to relax into the moment, feeling adrenaline drip steadily into his bloodstream.

His stomach growled.

Loudly.

Should have had something to eat, he thought with a small tight grin. No good chasing demons on an empty stomach.

The kitchen was almost as dark as the rest of the house, although the windows here were open and some of the tiny remaining light from outside bounced in and off the stainless steel faucets and pots hanging over the center island.

Curran felt his feet grip the tile floor and he moved over toward the cellar door.

And stopped.

A voice.

He heard it. But the walls muffled the details of what it said.

Had Darius already started? That didn’t make much sense. Not with the full moon not yet high in the sky. Hadn’t midnight always been the witching hour? Must not apply to demons, he decided.

He leaned close to the door, straining to hear the voice.

He could make out only one.

Then reached up and tried the cellar door. The doorknob turned and the frame swung open.

Curran eased himself down onto the top step. Still crouched, his legs cried out for relief. Sweat had formed around his forehead. The grip of his pistol grew slippery from his moist palms.

I should just charge right down there with gun blazing and be done with it, part of him said. He shook his head. Foolish. You couldn’t go barging in kicking ass without knowing what the place looked like. Lauren could get killed that way.

And Curran didn’t want her killed.

He eased himself down to another step, slowly transferring his weight to the inside edge of the tread closest to the wall, hoping it wouldn’t creak.

He kept moving, trying not to let his growing fear impede his progress.

Somewhere down there, Darius was trying to resurrect the Devil.

The purest form of evil incarnate.

And Lauren was down there as well.

The voice grew louder as Curran descended. He could hear the slight pauses and breaks in the sentence structure, but the language wasn’t one he recognized. Was this the same speech Lauren had heard the other night when she supposedly visited him here?

But from his vantage point on the stairs, he couldn’t see anything happening. Where was Darius? Where was Lauren. He strained his ears and detected something he hadn’t before: a muffled characteristic to the voices.

Almost like they were in another room.

Had Darius built a concealed room within the basement? That had to be it. Some sort of temporary wall perhaps. There’d be a door someplace in the cellar.

Sweat dribbled down Curran’s neck and he almost reflexively brushed it away.

His left foot came down harder on the stair below him.

Creak.

He froze.

Brought the gun up, waiting for Darius to break through the secret wall and see him. But the voice kept going. It didn’t stop.

Curran exhaled.

Jesus.

He moved down another step. One at a time. One at a time. Each step brought another hefty surge of adrenaline.

He was getting closer to the bottom now.

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and could see only vague shapes. The cardboard boxes he’d seen yesterday probably. Maybe they concealed the secret door through the wall.

But which ones?

Curran felt his foot touch stone.

The bottom.

At last.

He sighed and took a moment to gather himself. His breathing felt labored and his legs ached. But he’d reached the bottom. And he was closer than he’d expected to be able to get without Darius noticing him.

Curran used one of his hands to begin searching the cardboard boxes but then stopped.

He had to look at this from a smart angle or else he’d spend all his energy searching for nothing. He backed up to the cellar stairs and looked up toward the ceiling.

The lines of the room ran around him. From his vantage point, he could see left, all the way to the end. Trying to visualize where it would end if he was outside, Curran knew it would have broken into the sewer system if the room lay that way.

If the room lay ahead of him, it would jut into his neighbor’s house.

That meant the room must be to his right. Closest to the stairs leading up.

And one wall of cardboard boxes was easier to search than four.

Curran crept midway to the boxes and began slowly opening them and trying to move them.

The first few he could move.

The next few remained in place. As if they were glued there.

Was this the doorway?

Curran felt the back of the boxes, pressing in with his weight. If the wall had been a true one, it would have been harder. As it was, it gave somewhat under his weight. And Curran recognized the feel of wallboard rather than stone.

He’d found the wall.

But where was the door?

He got down on his hands and feet, holstering his piece for just a moment while he tried to see under any cracks. There had to be some light spilling out from the other side. Curran doubted Darius could see in the dark.

He caught a flicker of light and zeroed in on it.

Candles?

Made sense. Weren’t they used in magical ceremonies?

Curran thought so.

He traced his way up from where he saw the light on the floor. He ran his fingers over the wall.

And found a lip.

The edge of the door ran right in front of him.

Curran traced the entire outline with his hands until he stopped at a tiny knob.

A doorknob.

At last.

There were no hinges on this side, which meant the door would open inward. That was good. Curran could rush in faster.

He drew his gun.

He took a breath.

Settled his hand on the doorknob and started turning it.

It clicked.

Loudly.

Curran rammed it open and rushed inside, his gun up.

The voice bombarded his ears, loud.

Images exploded in his eyes.

The red pentagram on the floor. The black candles burnings, dripping wax everywhere. The vat in the center of the room.

And a sarcophagus.

Lauren inside the sarcophagus.

What th-?

Where was Darius?

Curran turned -

And felt something slam into the back of his head.

Blackness rushed up for him.

And he heard the voice no more.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

“Wake up!”

The water hit his face, cold and hard, snapping him back to consciousness. Curran opened his eyes, trying to clear them. He tried to move, but he was bound to a wooden chair with his hands behind him. He flexed his wrists but the knots seemed sound. His feet were at least free and he stretched his legs some.

Darius stood before him, draped in long black robes covered with archaic symbols stitched in red thread. “Did you sleep well?”

Curran spat some of the water out. “How long have I been out?”

“A few hours.”

Curran frowned. “What time is it?”

“Eleven-thirty.”

Curran glanced around. He could still see the sarcophagus. Was Lauren still inside it?

“So, you’re ready at last, is that it?”

Darius nodded. “It’s been a long time coming. I’m looking forward to seeing all my work come to fruition.” He moved closer to Curran. “Aren’t you?”

“Not particularly.”

“Just the sort of sentiment I’d expect from someone who has no idea what I’ve been working to accomplish.”

“I know what you want to accomplish,” said Curran. “You want to bring the Devil back to life.”

“No. Not back to life. He’s never been dead, don’t you see? He just can’t physically exist on this plane. I will change that.”

“So, what, you’ll have the Devil walking around in public? What kind of plan is that?” Keep him talking, thought Curran. Maybe he could figure something out.

“He will return to take control of this pitiful human existence.”

“Oh great, just we need: another leader who doesn’t know how to lead.”

“Humor is not one of your strengths, Curran.”

“Really? Shucks. I was hoping for a spot on the Late Show.”

Darius leaned closer, his foul breath making Curran wince. “Do you know how long I’ve followed your progress?”

“No. But I assume you’re going to tell me.”

“Don’t you remember our conversation from the other night? His smile widened.

He’s enjoying this, thought Curran. But at the same time, he couldn’t stop the deja vu washing over him again. Something did seem familiar.

Darius didn’t wait for him. “Ever since Dallas. About a year in to the investigation. Remember that? You were so obsessed with me. You tried so hard. Worked so long. All for nothing, wasn’t it?”

“Not for nothing, no. I did my job.”

“If you’d truly done your job, you would have caught me.” Darius chuckled. “I remember watching you right after you got bumped out of the Bureau. I watched you loaf around for those six months following your termination. You hung out in bars, in strip clubs, depressed. Lonely. And yet you never succumbed all the way to the basest form of human existence.”

“No.”

“And then you came north. Back home. To Boston. I was surprised they hired you on at the Boston Police Department, but then I suppose a resume that includes work for the FBI looks pretty impressive to a lot of people, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“When I learned from my master that Boston would be our final city, I could scarcely contain my delight. Seeing you again outside the nightclub a week ago was like a homecoming for me. We’re like family, you and I.”

“Darius, you’d be the side of the family I’d try to deny existed.”

“I’m sure I would be.” He smiled. “It might make for some interesting holiday dinners, though, wouldn’t you think?”

“Oh yeah. Especially before you ate everyone.” Curran struggled against his knots.

Darius pointed at the chair. “You are exactly where you’re supposed to be. Do you know that?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Darius shook his head. “Still so unaware.” He sighed. “I’ve been baiting you ever since I came to Boston. You didn’t see any of it, though apparently. The button? Our conversation in my store? None of that led you to believe I knew exactly how to play you?”

Curran hated to admit it. “No.”

“Amazing.” Darius rubbed his hands together. “I thought for sure you would have seen through something.”

“So, I’m stupid.” Curran flexed against the knots again. “You know I can’t let you get away with this.”

Darius chuckled. “Is that a line they teach all law enforcement types to say? I mean, really, everyone says it, even when his or her situation is so obviously poor. There’s no way you can stop me, right now. I have the advantage.”

“That’s your opinion.”

Darius came even closer and Curran watched his face change for just a moment into something his worst dreams couldn’t imagine. Then his face resumed its human appearance. He grinned. “Have you fought many demons?”

“No.”

“Exactly.”

“What have you done with Lauren?”

“Ah yes…the lady friend.”

“Where is she?”

“Do you love her, Curran?”

Curran frowned.

Darius smiled. “No? Funny, I rather thought you did. Especially seeing how much time you two spent together. Rather interesting considering the lady is about to become a nun and all. And here you go corrupting her. Tsk tsk. Not sure how well that will go over with your mighty mighty God.”

“I think he’d understand.”

“You think your God would overlook your transgression merely because the woman happens to be attractive?”

Curran frowned. “How about taking these ropes off of me?”

Darius laughed. “Not a chance.”

“Come on, Darius, let’s settle this like real men. No guns, no badges, no divine wrath. We’ll get down and dirty. Right to the end. Best man wins. What do you say?”

Darius shook his head. “I’m not a real man, Detective. And I’m afraid the advantage in such a situation would be mine all the more. Just ask your friend Kwon.”

Curran bit back the surge of anger. “Tough to do considering you killed him, asshole.”

“For a human, he managed to surprise me a bit.”

“You mean the tooth.”

Darius nodded. “A martial artist, isn’t that what you call those types?”

“I called him my friend. But I suppose that concept is foreign to you.”

“Purely a mortal concept, yes.” He walked over to the sarcophagus, running his hand along the wooden edges of it. “Isn’t this a nice piece of work?”

Curran chewed his lip. “Where’d you get that? The Museum of Fine Arts’ Egyptian Collection?”

“This isn’t Egyptian, you unschooled fool. This is much older than the Egyptians. This one dates back almost a thousand years before the Nile dwellers.”

“So what?”

“This is where my lord will rise. Be reborn on to this plane. Right in here.”

Curran sighed. “And how do you intend to go about doing that?”

Darius eyed him. “Not a believer yet, are you, Curran?”

“Something I’ve been struggling with. I mean, you’ve given me a lot to think about over the course of these past years. But I’m just not entirely convinced this is real. For all I know, you could just be some raving lunatic who thinks he talks to the Devil.”

Darius slapped him across the face. Curran’s head snapped away. He came back tasting copper blood. “Well, put yourself in my position, Darius.”

Darius folded his arms. “Haven’t you figured any of this out? Any of it?

“Don’t know. Why don’t you tell me what’s been going on and I’ll see if it makes any sense to me.”

“What have you discovered about the people I’ve killed?”

“Nasty bunch of folks,” said Curran. “Most of them are the most evil people I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing about.”

“Most?”

“Well, not all of them counted. The little mouse, the two nuns, Kwon…” His voice trailed off. He’d almost said Lauren. Was she already dead?

“No,” said Darius. “Her role in much more important than you realize.”

“Get back to your victims. Why kill the evil ones? Why not leave them be, why not let them continue creating havoc?”

“All of them are evil,” said Darius. “But not just evil in actions, their very souls are tainted by evil. They breed evil. Their every thought is of evil.”

“How is that possible?”

“Everything exists in balance in our universe. Without good there can be no evil and vice versa. To assume that every single person is inherently good is an atrociously arrogant philosophy. If everyone was inherently good, there would be no evil.”

“Unless evil is a learned concept.”

“But it’s not. No more than good is. And so, for all those inherently good souls, there are also inherently evil souls. In each generation, in every age, there are souls that are blacker than night. They exist to help balance out the good.” He smiled. “And sometimes, they exist for a more special purpose.”

“Bringing the Devil back.”

“It’s been written about throughout the ages. Most religions know about it. That’s why they preach being good so fervently. And for the most part, the evil souls tend to fall through the cracks.”

“What a shame.”

Darius smiled. “Tell me Curran: when you were a little boy, did anyone ever tell you that Satan looks for a reason to come into our lives? That he looks for the small beginnings of evil tendencies and then exploits those tendencies?”

Curran’s mind flashed back to Church. To the smells of the frankincense, myrrh, and other incense. He saw the priests. He saw Joey. He saw the fear. Felt the fear, the urge to vomit as he witnessed his friend being raped. He saw the look in the priest’s eyes as he came for him, hands outstretched.

“Yes.” Darius smiled. “Taste your fears all over again. Almost as if they’re happening right now.”

Curran’s mind drowned under the wash of terror gripping him. No! Run, Joey! Run! His eyes felt hot. Tears ran out of them. He sobbed. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t get away.

He could hear Darius chuckling. “You see? You do know what real evil is.” He clucked. “Enough.”

Curran’s mind cleared. The images disappeared.

“I can manipulate you as easily as I breathe, Detective. Your mind is an open book to me.” He looked at Curran again. “Satan lives best through the evil of others.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

Darius eyed him. “Ah, yes, that missionary fellow. Westerly.” He smacked his lips. “Troubling sort. I had to take care of him as well.”

“How many have you killed over the years?”

“Since I’ve been among you pathetic humans? Too many to count.” He shrugged. “Anyway, with each evil deed, my Lord’s presence grows stronger. It draws him.” Darius checked one of the candles and then his watch.

“The problem,” he continued, “is that the focus is scattered. My Lord does not have the ability to simultaneously concentrate on exploiting the evil associated with millions of potential evil people. He could not capitalize on that evil and come back here.”

“Which is his real goal.”

“Naturally.”

Curran nodded. “Makes sense.”

“But, if it was possible to harvest the evil souls of people and gather them in one place, then Satan would be able to open a doorway on to this plane.”

“And you, uh, ‘harvested’ these souls.”

“Like you said, my victims have all been evil.” Darius looked proud. “I am the Soul Eater.”

“So, what do you do with the souls once you get them?”

“I cannot,” said Darius, “hold onto them. I am merely the facilitator of them leaving the body they formerly inhabited. As you no doubt noticed when you unclasped the locks of the sacred vat, it smelled revolting.”

“That’s one word I might use to describe it.”

“It is almost one hundred years worth of vomit, I’m afraid.”

“One hundred years? I thought you’ve been around for eons.”

“I have.” Darius turned away. “Success, however, has only been a recent occurrence in my existence.”

Curran frowned. What did he mean? Had someone else battled him in the past? Had someone else managed to destroy his vat before? How had they done it? Maybe he could be beaten. Curran cleared his mind, aware that the demon could see into it.

“You vomit into that vat and store it?”

“It’s not vomit in the sense that you know it, although it smells just as bad. This vat contains the souls of everyone I’ve killed over the past century.”

“In other words, the evil you ‘harvested.’”

“Exactly.”

“Some hobby you got there.”

Curran tested the ropes again by flexing his hands, hoping Darius wouldn’t notice. “Well, tell me this: if you needed to get evil souls, why have you only killed in the United States? Are you saying we have a monopoly on evil people here?”

“Not at all. Evil spreads itself equally throughout the world, just as good does. Remember the balance we spoke of.” He smiled again. “I spent time in other regions of the world. I harvested there and eventually it was time to come to the United States.”

Curran kept flexing his wrists. Was there some give back there? “So, where is Lauren? Or did you kill her already?”

“Kill her? Me?” Darius shook his head. “I would not presume to do such a thing. As I said, her role in this whole process is very important.”

“Is it?”

“Oh yes.” Darius walked back to the sarcophagus. “You see, while the focus of evil souls is one of the largest components of the process, there is another that is almost as important.”

“That being?”

“The host body.”

“Host?”

“It was written thousands of years ago that the host body must be one who is inherently good. They must have repeatedly demonstrated their ability to refrain from evil actions, though they may have indeed been tainted by it in their past. Perhaps they have been scarred. Perhaps they were brutalized in some fashion. And yet, at every turn they are able to rise above the temptation to do evil back, to get any sort of revenge. They adhere to the principles of good no matter what.”

“In other words, they’re role models for the rest of us.”

“For the rest of you,” spat Darius. “I myself would have no cause to consider them as a role model.”

“You’ve made that abundantly clear.”

“Have I? Good.” Darius patted the sarcophagus. “Your friend Lauren. Your…lover, as she became, is one of the most benevolent souls in the world.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I am about to,” said Darius. He crossed the room and unclasped one of the seals on the vat.

Curran frowned. “That’s gonna stink this place up to high heaven.”

“Tragically, yes, but it will only be temporary.”

“Temporary?” Curran found it difficult to believe fermented vomit would smell only for a short time.

“Long enough to pour the contents out into the sarcophagus.”

“Why would you do that?”

“You wanted to know what I’ve done with Lauren.”

Curran felt his stomach churn. “Yeah.”

“She is in the sarcophagus.”

“Still?”

“You saw her when you first came in, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Before you realized I’d simply thrown my voice so you would sneak down here and I could come up behind you and disable you.”

Curran sighed. “Right.”

“You did better on the stairs, by the way, than I thought you would. Especially since the third one from the bottom always creaks a terrible amount.”

“I’m thrilled you approve.”

Darius unclasped the other seal. “Honestly, the smell is pretty nasty. But like I said, it will be over fairly quickly once I start the ceremony.”

“Let Lauren go.”

“I can’t do that, Curran.”

“Let me take her place.”

Darius laughed. “You can’t be serious. Your soul is as gray as they come. There is some good in you but there is also some evil. You’ve been scarred before and you hid your resentment deep down there, never working through it. You harbor animosity toward people who have crossed you in the past. You have a lot of issues, Curran.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Your soul is not suitable.”

“And Lauren’s is.”

“Oh yes. Like I started to say before, the evil souls I have gathered must be allowed to inhabit the body of a benevolent soul. In that environment, the evil souls will feast on the goodness of the host body, a sort of spiritual feast, and at that point where the last vestige of good is destroyed, then and only then can Satan come back and inhabit the body.”

“You’re telling me that Satan will be walking around in Lauren’s body?”

“Exactly.”

Curran frowned. “So why am I still alive? Why not just kill me now?”

“Ah, yes, well, you too play an important role in all of this.”

“Yeah?”

“In much the same manner that the evil souls will feast upon the good soul, so too will the physical need nourishing.”

“Nourishing.”

“Yes, my dear homicide detective. You see, you are the first meal that Satan will enjoy when he finally enters this plane. You are to be his midnight snack.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Curran considered this. What the hell, he thought, I never believed I’d come through safe and sound. He looked at Darius who seemed to want to milk the moment.

“What’d you use on Lauren, drugs?”

Darius sniffed. “Please. I wouldn’t presume to contaminate her blood with so earthly a creation as narcotics.”

“So, what? You use your little powers or something?”

Darius shifted and turned to face Curran. His face morphed again, drawing itself out like Silly Putty pressed to a comic. His skin lengthened and darkened. Curran watched as his jaw dropped down, unhinging and yawning like a great snake. He could see the white teeth disappear, only to be replaced by yellowish triangular ones with deep serrations running down the sides. Coarse black hair sprung out of Darius’ head. His nose receded, drawn back toward his misshapen skull while his nostrils turned up giving a porcine appearance.

The rest of his body grew as well. His robes burst at the seams as his flesh expanded and filled three times the space his human body had. His arms lengthened topped with a fearsome looking set of claws.

And all the while he moved closer to Curran.

His voice filled the room, a piece of splintery wood drawn across heavy grit sandpaper. “Tell me human if you don’t still think this is all the ravings of a lunatic. Tell me you don’t believe now what others have told you is truth. Look at me — see what I am — what I can become with mere will — and tell me that I exist only in your pathetic mind.”

Curran’s throat went dry.

Holy crap.

The demon standing before him chuckled and it sounded like all the phlegm in the world was gurgling against the back of his throat. “So, maybe you do believe after all.”

“Are you still Darius?”

“Names are merely labels for humans. You would not be able to pronounce my name in your tongue. Call me what you will for it matters not.”

Curran watched him turn back to the sarcophagus. He strained against the ropes holding him tight. There had to be a way to get out of them.

But even if he was successful, then what? Curran didn’t have near the martial arts skills that Kwon had had. What then?

He knew for sure his pistol was gone. But what about his backup piece? With both his legs free, he tried to rub one against the other. Was that it? He couldn’t be sure if he still felt it there or not.

He needed to get free.

The demon lifted his arms. “The hour grows near. I must begin.”

Curran kept flexing. “You mind if I catch this act some other time?”

The Soul Eater glanced over his bulbous shoulder and eyed him, one opaque orb topped by a yellow and red pupil. Curran had never seen such cold eyes. “It’s time for you to be quiet, Curran. Sit there and say nothing. Your time will come soon enough.”

Curran frowned and flexed his wrists against the ropes again. There was definitely some wriggle room. Not a lot, but there might just be enough.

Darius checked the candles and then moved into the center of the pentagram, raising his arms toward the roof of the cellar. He cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and then began to speak.

His voice deepened, but the words coming out were foreign to Curran. If he’d ever thought about it, this must be what someone talking in tongues would sound like.

While his eyes were closed, Curran continued flexing against the ropes. He figured it must be right close to midnight. He didn’t think the demon would speak for long. Not after waiting for all those years. That didn’t leave much time to get free of the ropes and help Lauren out of that damned coffin.

The demon turned his back to Curran and stood before the vat. He lowered his arms as if to encircle the vessel, his voice dipping into lower monotones. He almost chanted now.

Curran could see something happening to the vat. It almost looked like it was starting to boil.

He frowned.

The evil souls were stirring. At long last, their period of hibernation was coming to an end.

And they’d be hungry.

Curran glanced around the room. Where was his gun? If he could get out of the ropes, he’d need a weapon. At the same time, he didn’t want to alert the demon into somehow spiritually tying him up as well.

He flexed again and felt one of the ropes give.

Darius lifted the lid off of the vat.

A wave of putrid smell washed over the entire cellar. Curran retched and tasted some of his own bile. The stench was incredible. Darius placed the lid at one of the points of the pentagram.

He lifted a black-bladed knife and then slowly drew it across his own scaly palm. Curran watched the blade bite deep into the thick callused skin. A stream of fresh blood rained into the vat. It had an immediate effect. The contents began churning like an angry sea.

Curran tried his best not to inhale, because every time he did, he wanted to puke all over again. He steadied his mind and flexed again.

Another rope gave.

Darius placed the knife at another point of the pentagram and wrapped his wound in black cloth. Curran saw the fabric immediately turn brighter as the red blood soaked it through.

Darius continued his prayers over the vat.

The contents bubbled now.

Like watching a pot come to a boil, thought Curran.

Darius walked over toward the sarcophagus. Curran fidgeted, straining some more against the ropes. He looked and saw that affixed to the bottom of the sarcophagus were small wheels.

Darius wheeled it toward the vat.

Curran frowned. No! He had to get free!

He flexed again.

Another rope gave.

But more still held his wrists tight.

Darius stopped the sarcophagus and resumed his position in front of the vat. Again, he raised his arms toward the ceiling.

The chanting continued.

Any minute now, he’s going to dump that crap all over Lauren, thought Curran.

He flexed again.

Nothing budged.

Curran chewed his lower lip. The room had grown a lot hotter all of a sudden. It was beginning to happen. Darius was beginning to call Satan forth.

A line of sweat broke out along Curran’s hairline, dribbling down over his forehead and into his eyes, stinging them.

He made a decision.

He jerked himself to the right and fell to the ground, the chair with him. He tried to twist just so, that one side of the chair would impact with the stone floor and hopefully break.

It didn’t.

Curran lay there struggling, trying to escape the ropes that continued to bind him tight.

And suddenly realized the chanting had stopped.

The demon stood in front of him.

“It would be wise, I think, to not interrupt me again. The requirement is only that you be alive for my master when he comes on to this plane.” Darius grinned. “I can easily make you far more submissive.”

“Yeah, but you won’t do that.”

“No?”

“You want me to see this. You need me to see this. After all, this is almost ten years of our lives, isn’t it, Darius? You’ve tormented me for so long already. You aren’t about to let me get out of that kind of torture. You live for this kind of crap. I’ll bet the last time you had this much fun was when you killed Graham Westerly.”

Darius laughed. “Perhaps.” A single hairy finger nudged Curran in the chest. “Lay there then. Be still and I will allow you to witness the resurrection of my Lord.”

Darius turned back to the vat. The contents had stopped boiling when Darius had stopped chanting. Now and then a small bubble would pop on the surface, sending a tiny pocket of putrid air into the room.

But now Darius began chanting again.

Instantly the vat responded. It was as if Darius was calling the evil contained within the vat to become ready for the final metamorphosis.

Curran desperately wished there was some way he could get Lauren to wake up. He didn’t think shouting would do a thing. Especially if the sound of Darius’ chanting hadn’t woken her up yet.

He had to do something!

He flexed again. Tried straining hard to break another bit of the rope. It didn’t work. Curran slumped forward and sighed.

Was this it? Was this how he was doomed to go out? And what about Lauren? Didn’t her life of good count for anything at all?

Darius’ voice grew louder.

The vat was almost rocking in time to his voice.

Curran had never realized how full the vat was. The contents were again boiling, almost overflowing from their containment.

The time seemed close at hand.

Darius bent down by the bottom of the vat and wrapped his arms around it.

Curran frowned. What the hell was he going to do, lift it up and pour in onto Lauren’s body?

Darius hefted the vat.

Curran jerked his body again, trying to get free of the ropes. They held tight. The chair wobbled again.

The Soul Eater looked back and smiled, still chanting. He was obviously enjoying Curran’s frantic attempts to get free. He shook his head and kept chanting.

He held the vat higher now, up by his chest.

Curran shook his head. How Darius could stand the smell that close was beyond him.

Darius lifted the vat higher.

Still chanting.

Popping sounds erupted from the vat now, sounding like zaps of electricity in the cellar air. More pockets of stench filled the room.

Curran gagged again.

Darius held the vat even higher.

Almost over head now, his voice grew louder. The tempo of his chanting increased. The pops of electrical energy increased. The room grew hotter again.

Curran jerked in his chair.

Come on, he thought, just break already!

Darius’ voice grew soft then and Curran knew instinctively that he was too late. That all his efforts had been for nothing. There was no way he could stop Darius. Not now. Not like this. Not tied to some chair in a cellar in the middle of Chestnut Hill.

Not in this lifetime.

Curran hung his head.

Lauren. I’m so sorry.

His head swam with a million images until at last a solitary image of Lauren stood out. Her smile. Her face. Her entire body. She radiated goodness. It zoomed out of her — a white light halo that expanded ever outward toward him.

Was this her?

Curran saw himself reaching out — trying desperately to make the connection. He had to believe he could reach her. He had to believe she could touch him.

He had to -

— believe!

A rope broke.

Another broke a second later.

Curran kept Lauren in his mind. He kept looking at her. He could feel the warmth of her smile wash over him now. It poured strength into his arms, into his body.

Come back to me Lauren. Come back now!

A final rope broke.

“Steve?”

And the voice that filled the room then — the voice that rose above the chanting of the demon…

…belonged to Lauren.

Chapter Forty

Darius — the demon — the Soul Eater — roared.

Curran opened his eyes. His hands were free. He scrambled to his feet. He could see Lauren sitting up in the sarcophagus. She seemed to be regarding the demon standing before her with the vat in his arms.

Lauren’s voice rang out loud and clear. “Stop this now, Darius. Your mission will never succeed.”

Darius’ voice challenged her. “It is too late mortals. Too late! The time is now at hand.”

He lifted the vat high and moved closer to the sarcophagus.

Curran scrambled to his knees and fumbled with the cuff of his khaki pants. He ripped the right cuff up.

Darius lifted the vat up high — his arms fully extended.

Lauren simply looked at him and smiled.

“Don’t do this.”

Darius paused.

Lauren kept smiling.

What the hell was she doing?

“Put that down, Darius.”

Her eyes seemed glassy. Her voice changed now and she began speaking something that sounded like what Darius had spoken.

Curran thought he saw the demon’s arms slack a little.

Was she getting through to him?

And then a cold wind swept into the cellar. Followed by a voice that made the hair on Curran’s neck stand straight up.

“Do it now! I command you! Do it now!”

Darius roared again.

Curran saw the strength flood back into him. Back into his arms. He lifted the vat again. He stood close by the sarcophagus.

Curran ripped his gun out of the holster.

And shouted.

“Darius!”

The demon turned.

Curran flicked the safety off.

He could see the vat beginning to turn — almost ready to empty into the sarcophagus.

He fired.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The bullets slammed into the demon’s chest, ripping small holes of crimson open. Darius grunted as each round impacted. More blood spilled out of him.

And he laughed.

Curran frowned.

“You see? Your pathetic toy cannot harm me. Watch.” And as Curran watched, the bullet holes closed up one after the other. The blood dried quickly and faded back into the demon’s skin.

Darius moved his head slightly and Curran found himself flung back against the earthen wall of the cellar. Wind jumped out of him as he made contact and he grunted. His pistol clattered away. He slumped to the ground.

Almost unconscious.

“No!”

Lauren’s voice.

Blackness oozed up in Curran’s mind. Reaching for him. It would be so easy, he thought. So easy to give in and let the blackness take the pain away. He could sleep now. Sleep for years and years.

Give in, Steve. Give in and be reborn a new man. Give in.

The darkness clouded his vision. He could see it seeping into his eyesight. He closed his eyes and more darkness rushed for him.

Give in.

“Steve!”

No.

Lauren.

Still in danger — must -

Curran’s eyes shot open. His left hand brushed against the small pistol and clutched it.

Brought it up.

“Soul Eater!”

Darius roared again and turned.

Curran aimed.

Fired another shot.

But not at Darius.

He shot the vat.

The first round struck the ancient pottery dead center.

Flecks of the ceramic exploded.

Darius roared and gripped the vat tighter.

But even as he did so, Curran fired his gun once more.

The vat exploded.

And a wave of the boiling vomitus poured down over Darius’ head.

The Soul Eater shrieked.

Bits of the ancient pottery bit into his scaly skin, tearing it open. Blood rushed out, and the vomit rushed into his wounds. It looked like acid — eating him whole. Curran watched as it ate through his coarse black hair. It smelled like it was burning. He retched as the stench of it all filled the air.

The demon waved his arms, trying to wipe the gunk out of his eyes. His fingers came away holding his own eyeballs. His mouth spewed more vomit.

His knees buckled.

Curran got to his feet and ran to the sarcophagus — careful to avoid the ever expanding puddle of vomit on the floor.

Lauren!

He heaved her out of the coffin and propped her over one shoulder.

Darius kept trying to wipe the vomit out of his hair, not realizing it was eating through his entire body. As he wiped away, bits of his own flesh came out in chunks, falling to the ground around him.

Blood gushed everywhere.

Curran almost slipped into a pile of the vomit, but managed to keep his footing.

Another gale storm of cold blew into the room. Bits of vomit — the souls of all the evil he’d managed to collect — flew about the room, splattering the stone walls. Some of it landed on the wallboard and began eating its way through to the other side of the room.

Curran gagged.

And kept moving toward the door.

Darius screamed again, his wails echoing off the stone walls filling the cellar with dread and despair. He tried to get to his feet, but his knees had been eaten away by the torrent of acidic evil. He wobbled and fell forward face first into the sea of his own filth.

Curran paused at the entrance to the secret room.

He looked down at his gun.

One round left.

Brought it up.

Sighted down the barrel.

What good would it do?

Did he deserve a quick release?

After all the evil he’d committed?

Don’t do it!

Curran frowned. The voice again. That voice. Inside his head? He shivered.

Don’t do it. Make him suffer. Make him feel the pain he’s caused you all these years. This is your chance for revenge. Embrace it!

Curran shook his head. “No!”

Leave him. Let him suffer.

“Get out of my head!”

Lauren’s voice was soft in his ear. “Steve.”

His mind cleared.

Curran steadied his aim.

And fired his final round.

It smacked into the back of Darius’ skull making a wet squishing sound. Darius flailed once, his arm catching a candle, and then lay still.

The candle fell to the remnants of his tattered black robe at the edge of the pentagram. The flames found the fabric of his black robes and raced along it toward Darius.

Toward the vomit.

It caught like a fuse, zipping all over the room. Flames jumped from one splatter to the next. They roared all over Darius’ body, consuming it whole.

Curran shielded his eyes. The place was an inferno.

A splash of vomit on the fake wall closest to him suddenly erupted in flames.

Thick viscous smoke cloyed at him.

A horrendous wind kicked up, roaring into the cellar. The screams of all the evil souls the Soul Eater had harvested were released by the all-consuming firestorm. They rushed around bouncing off the walls. Curran could see the disembodied faces, the spirits, the swirling masses of energy rushing all around, trying desperately to get out.

Curran’s eye stung and he closed them.

Screams filled his ears, invaded his head.

He felt the fire getting closer.

Heard more screeches.

And then in the midst of all the chaos, he heard Lauren’s voice again. “Run, Steve.”

Curran turned.

Fire flew out of the room, finding the cardboard boxes and quickly eating through them.

The stairs.

Curran raced up as smoke began engulfing the cellar. He coughed and gagged. He reached the kitchen and then the living room.

The front door!

Fire caught in the kitchen. It was spreading too quickly to be natural.

Another gust of wind — this time warm — fanned the flames even higher in the house. Curtains caught in other rooms. The crackling sounds of flames eating everything in their path clogged Curran’s ears.

He heaved the font door open.

And felt the cool air outside greet him.

Down the front steps.

Out onto the street.

The first neighbors came running out of their homes.

Curran laid Lauren down against his car.

And turned.

He could hear small explosions erupting from inside the house.

In the distance he could hear the sirens coming.

Flames licked the corners of the windows on the second floor already. Paint bubbled and boiled off the eaves. Shingles blew off the roof.

A huge crack sounded and half the roof sank suddenly. Another crack a few seconds later as the flames ate their way through everything like old newspaper. The roof shuddered once and sank in toward the center of the house.

And then the lower floor exploded, blowing out plaster and wood into the yard. Everyone ducked as bits of debris blew out into the cold November night.

Curran sat down and leaned against the car next to Lauren.

Sighed.

Beside him, Lauren stirred.

Opened her eyes.

She looked at Curran.

Smiled.

“Where am I?”

Curran felt his eyes grow hot and wet. His vision clouded. His voice cracked. He hugged Lauren close to him.

“You’re safe,” he said finally.

And then as an afterthought, “Thank God.”

Epilogue

“Some night.”

Curran smiled. “Some night.”

They sat in the same bookshop on Newbury Street that Lauren favored so much. All around them, people sat enjoying cups of gourmet coffee and reading international newspapers. Intellectuals and beatniks mixed with students and corporate types. Quite a mix, Curran decided.

“You’re not smoking?”

Curran grinned. “Don’t know if I ever will again. Somehow, I don’t feel much like lighting up.”

She stirred her coffee. “You saved my life, Steve.”

“No,” said Curran. “I didn’t.”

“Then who did?”

The way she was looking at him, she had an answer in mind already. She wanted him to say it. He actually smiled. “Not really a who. More of a what.”

“Yes?”

“I guess it was faith.” He took a sip of coffee and decided the answer was one he could live with after all.

“Your faith is back?”

“Well, honestly, I don’t think I’ll be a gung-ho church-going cop anytime soon. And I certainly won’t be embracing every new age religion that I hear about.”

“But?”

“But, yeah. Yeah, I think it’s back. When I was trying to get you to wake up, I could see you. But you were different. You were all happy and warm and so incredibly beautiful. I couldn’t do anything but try to reach out to you.”

“You brought me back from wherever Darius had hidden my spirit away. It was your faith — your belief that you actually could get to me — that did it. Not me.”

“I don’t know if I want to take all of the credit for what happened there tonight.”

“Maybe God deserves some of the credit.”

“Maybe. Maybe goodness is its own divine power.”

Curran sighed and thought about Kwon. About how much he owed his best friend. Lauren reached out and touched his arm.

“He’s at peace, Steve.”

“Yeah, I know. I just wonder how long it’ll be before I am.”

“We’re all destined to die, you know. It’s what we do with the time between when we’re born and when our personal destiny comes true that counts.”

“I guess so.”

She fixed him with a stare. “After everything that’s happened — after what you witnessed — there’s no doubt left in you is there?”

“Not a speck.”

“Did he speak to you?”

Curran nodded. “He wanted me to leave Darius alone to suffer rather than shoot him. I’d never heard anything that emanated so much evil. I’d never heard anything that scared me so absolutely. And I hope to God I never hear anything like it again.”

Lauren took another sip and regarded him. “Do you think your last bullet put him out of his misery?”

“I don’t think that was the point. I think…he…wanted to see if he could get me to be evil.”

“But you didn’t give in to the temptation. Even after everything that Darius put you through. After everything he said.”

Curran shrugged. “I guess I just didn’t think he deserved to die like that. He was an evil being, yes. But not like that. I didn’t think of it as doing him a favor. I just wanted to do it.”

“A selfless act. And not at all a gray decision.”

“Guess so.” Curran sighed and stayed quiet for a few minutes while he drank some coffee. “We came pretty close to dying ourselves, huh?”

“Yes. We did.”

Outside the window, the late night city inhabitants crept past. Some dressed for a night on the town, others looking for a warm place to huddle for the night. “Will it happen again?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Curran drank some more. “That’s not exactly the answer I wanted to hear.”

“I know. No one wants to hear that. But one thing Darius said was true. Good and evil can’t exist without the other. And even though good won this battle, there’s still a war being fought. All the time. On many fronts. Sometimes we win.”

“Sometimes we lose?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think happened to Darius?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Perhaps he died, but I tend to doubt it. I rather think he’s back in Hell with his master. Who is probably not very pleased with him right now.”

“Will the Soul Eater be back?”

“Hard to say. Part of me thinks he will. Knowing especially that Satan is so determined to break through to this plane. Yes, he’ll probably be back.”

“Thanks goodness there’s some good folks like us around, huh?”

Lauren looked uncomfortable. “Yes.”

Curran eyed her. “You okay?”

She started to nod but then stopped and looked up at him instead. “Steve. We need to talk.”

Curran’s stomach dropped. “Something tells me this isn’t going to go down on my list of all-time favorite conversations.”

She smiled weakly. “After everything we’ve been through. After everything that…happened. Now more than ever…I need to continue on with my plans.”

“You mean entering the Church.”

“Yes.”

“I feel like some love struck fool.” Curran sighed. “What about us?”

“Steve,” she held his hand. “What happened between us was probably the single greatest event of my life. Your love for me was the most sincere display that any man has ever demonstrated. I didn’t think that was possible. I didn’t think I could ever love a man. Not after what happened in my life.”

She squeezed his hand. “But you showed me that I could.”

“You fell in love with me?”

“Absolutely.”

“But you’re still going to become a nun.”

“Steve. I know this won’t be easy for you to understand. But there’s more to this world than just the two of us.”

“Two of us seems a pretty good place to start, Lauren.”

She nodded. “But we wouldn’t stay that way. Don’t you see? You’re a cop, Steve. A good cop. And you won’t put your badge down. I wouldn’t ask you to. You’re needed on the streets. You’re needed to go after the bad and evil people out there breaking the law. You help restore justice in this world.”

“And what would you do?”

“I can help fight evil, too, Steve. But in my own way. I can’t do it by being your girlfriend or even your wife. I can’t do it out here. I can’t help the cause of goodness out in the world as an ordinary citizen. But I can do it in the service of the Church. As a nun, I can help fight evil in a spiritual sense.”

“Darius told me you were one of the most benevolent souls in the world.”

Lauren smiled. “I’m not that presumptuous.”

“But it’s true.”

“Maybe it is. That’s not for me to say.”

Curran looked around the room, suddenly aware of the growing lump in his throat. “I don’t want to let you go, Lauren. You brought my life a sense of happiness I haven’t felt in a long time.”

“And you helped restore my life, Steve. But we have a chance to take that goodness and spread it around to other people now. If we kept it for just ourselves, it wouldn’t be right.”

“Feels like it would be.”

“It’s wishful thinking, Steve. We’d get bored after a while. Each of us would be too busy trying to make the other one feel better that we’d lose our focus. We each have a path to take. Mine is in the service of the Church. I need to go follow that path now.”

“You love me, though. And…I love you.”

She nodded. “And nothing will ever change how I feel about you, Steve. I’ll always love you. But I can’t live my life beside you. I have to live it in spite of you.”

Curran’s face felt hot. He looked at her. “I don’t know if I’ll ever stop loving you.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand. “I have to go now.”

He started to stand, but she stopped him. “Don’t. Just let me go. It will be easier this way.”

“No,” he said. “It won’t.”

She looked at him for a long time. “No. Probably not.” She stood, leaned over him and kissed him lightly on the lips. “I’ll always love you, too, Steve. Never forget that.”

And then she was gone.

He watched her leave and then waited five minutes.

Outside, the rain was gone. He looked up at the night sky and saw a few bright stars stand out among the brilliant haze of the city lights. Was it worth it to make a wish on one of them?

He almost grinned. Why not?

Maybe some day he and Lauren would get together after all. All he needed was a little faith.

A breeze swept over him.

But Steve Curran no longer shivered.