Grave Dealings Page 4

The Night Runner’s free hand clenched the waistline of my pants. He tugged.

  My body shifted, but I used his mass against him. I pulled back against his arm, angling him towards me. It became a contest of strength and experience. The freak had the strength. I hoped he didn’t have the experience.

  He released his grip on my beltline and reeled his hand back.

  I tensed and leaned away as much as I could.

  His fist rocketed out at a sharp angle.

  A dull throb filled my side just below the ribs. The force caused the soles of my shoes to grate against the ground. I hadn’t pulled away from the blow as much as I would’ve liked. At least he didn’t hit my ribs. The force could have cracked a few.

  I grimaced and maintained my grip on his arm. Letting go wasn’t an option. Not unless I wanted to be sliced into lunch meat. I leaned in, using my weight to bend his arm towards him. “Don’t you think things have gotten a bit personal now?”

  The Night Runner’s lips peeled back. He flashed me a smile that was more fang than tooth. The freak pulled his free hand back.

  I knew what would follow and capitalized on the brief moment between. The muscles in my legs tensed as I took a step forwards. My momentum drove the elf back a step.

  He winced and refused to give ground. Instead, he arched back, bending in a manner reserved for acrobats.

  I pushed harder, hoping his back had a limit. The elf’s upper body was near horizontal. That took freakish strength and flexibility that I could never hope for. So, I decided to fight dirty. I balled my hand and snapped my arm out, connecting with the creature’s throat.

  His eyes widened before they shut tight. He pawed at his throat, gagging from the strike.

  I pulled away and jabbed again. The blow rocked the elf’s head back. I smiled as he let loose another scream. There’s only so many times you can strike a broken nose before the pain overwhelms the person—or, in this case, elf. The back of my hand dragged against his clothing. Streaks of blood trailed behind. Elf blood is icky.

  The Night Runner reached out to touch his nose again, stopping short of making contact. Moisture welled at the corners of his eyes.

  I seized the moment and bore down on his other arm. The tip of the knife slipped through the jacket like it was made of wet paper. I twisted my hips and turned the knife. It sank into the meat of his shoulder.

  The cry he let out would definitely have people dialing the cops. I needed to finish this—fast.

  There’s a certain point where pain galvanizes someone into levels of amazing strength and reactions. This was that point. The Night Runner’s uninjured arm hooked around my side. His hand gripped a part of my shirt and he wrenched.

  My hands broke free of the blade and my feet left the ground. The world slid sideways until it stopped with an impact that I’m sure my future bodies would feel. I spun to face the Night Runner more from instinct than anything else. The back of his fist blurred into view. My vision flared. It felt like I had caught a fastball with my mouth. The taste of salt and iron brushed over the tip of my tongue. My vision cleared in time for me to witness the Night Runner ripping the blade from his shoulder.

  There was a wild look in his eyes. Something past anger; he looked deranged. The elf’s mouth spread into a macabre smile.

  Shit. I’m going to be killed by a Legolas reject.

  He dove.

  Something primal triggered in the back of my mind. Ah, hell. I charged. My shoulder crashed into his chest. The edge of the blade dragged against the side of my shirt. It felt like a blowtorch as fine as a scalpel had raked my bicep. My impact drove the Night Runner to the ground and I followed him down. I used my position to drive my forearm into the crown of his skull.

  His eyes lost focus for a moment.

  The side of my torso felt like it couldn’t twist any further. I shifted and sent my fist into the side of his skull.

  The Night Runner bucked.

  I leaned in, pressing down to pin him.

  He lashed out with a fist.

  The lower half of my jaw felt like it had dislocated. I reeled enough for the elf to shove me to the ground.

  “Why...won’t you...die?” His chest heaved, and he looked like he was reaching his limit.

  I blinked to clear the stars as my head lolled. “I’m not allowed to yet!”

  The elf’s face lost all expression. He pressed a hand to his bleeding shoulder and grimaced a second later. “This isn’t over, fool.”

  He had to take a dig at me, even after having his ass kicked. Some people just can’t be professional.

  The Night Runner slashed the air with his first two fingers extended. A thread of light the color of candle smoke parted the air. It was like watching a stopper being pulled from a bathtub. The surrounding colors bent and warped, siphoning into the funnel.

  It was a Way. A link to the world of the paranormal.

  The Night Runner gave me one last look and spat at the ground. Guess he didn’t think much of me. He turned and dove through the opening. It snapped shut with a plume of smoke shooting out from both sides.

  I let my head fall against the wall behind me. “Yeah, you better run.” My brain felt like it was tumbling. So did my eyes. I rolled my tongue around the inside of my cheeks. Saliva mixed with blood. I turned and spat.

  Lights radiated from some of the windows atop the buildings nearby. Our fight had drawn some attention.

  I sighed and clawed at the wall to haul myself up. A tongue of grease chilled to arctic temperatures made its way down my back. I shuddered and broke into a brisk walk, hoping it would push the feeling from my mind. It didn’t.

  I crossed the next street as fast I could, putting the block behind me. Rounding the corner didn’t do much to get rid of the chilling sensation. I felt like I was in a paranormal game show. My other tail had watched that throwdown. Someone was sizing me up. I just wish I knew what for.

  My pace doubled as I tried to put distance between the fight scene and myself. The next streetlight offered me a place for a much-needed stop. I turned my forearm and took a peek.

  Another hour lost. Fifty-five wasn’t a lot of time. More than I’ve had on some, but this case was particularly irritating. Outside parties were involved and kept me from making progress. My jaw ached as I clenched my teeth. Getting frustrated wasn’t going to do me any good. I cast a look over my shoulder to let my tail know I hadn’t forgotten about them.

  Nothing stood out, but I’d expected that. I turned and broke into a run. Even with all the energy I had expended during the fight, I could push on. My bodies recover fast. I pushed the stinging cut from my mind and did the same for the split corner of my lip. The throbbing jaw was harder, but I buried its pain as well. They would all heal in a short time.

  Running absorbed more than my energy. It swallowed my errant thoughts. I needed the clarity it offered as the streets passed by. The muscles along my torso and hips ached occasionally. I shut my eyes during those fleeting moments until the pain dissipated. It was a tedious process. I focused through it until a gentle tug pulled at my heart and the pit of my stomach.

  My pace slowed to a crawl. The side of the building was draped in a massive banner that covered all three stories. Gray and black lettering made things clear. It was Daniel’s gallery. I smiled and rushed towards the front.

  It was the same unassuming brick that comprised so many of the buildings in Queens. The only difference was that the gallery seemed to have gotten a touch-up on the surface. A rich burgundy tinged each of the bricks. Arched stained glass windows ran along the floors above the ground level.

  “Fancy.” I moved to the door and fumbled through the ring of keys. The first key refused to fit. I thumbed through to the next. No memory from Daniel triggered. Guess struggling with keys isn’t important enough to warrant help. The next key clicked to the base. I exhaled and made a silent prayer. I turned it and was rewarded with the sound of a bolt unlocking.

  I pulled the door open and slipped inside. T
he second the door shut, I paused and turned around. My lips folded back as I frowned. I’d been getting jumped far too often on this case. And, notably, by the same ashy-skinned asshole. I locked the door and gave it a tug to confirm that it was shut. It wouldn’t do much. Not when windows, just as large as the door, ran along the side of the ground floor.

  I figured there would be an alarm system that would trigger in the event something broke its way in. I could hope.

  My vision struggled to adjust to the darkness. Flickering streetlights threw staccato bursts of weak light into my face. It wasn’t helping. I moved away from the front of the gallery and into the dark.

  If ever there were a time and place for a nasty to ambush you...

  Shut up.

  I blinked at the realization that I was arguing with myself. It was that, or admit that I was unsettled. My heart lurched for an instant.

  A piece of Daniel came to the rescue. The vision snapped through my mind. I placed my back against the nearest wall and stretched a hand out. My palm brushed along the smooth surface until something cold and hard stopped me. I inched across it with a finger until the surface changed. The feel of plastic is almost second nature to most people.

  I grinned and ran my index finger against the rectangular switch. One corner rocked back. A row of panels illuminated the far side of the room; a bright light tinged with a hint of blue. My vision adjusted, and I thumbed the rest of the switches. The room came to life.

  I let out a long whistle. The walls were a stark white, clearly chosen to make any piece stand out. Paintings raced along the wall. Each had a level of appeal that would catch someone’s eye. And their wallet.

  An intricate piece of metalwork seemed to pull all of the light and attention to itself. It dominated the center of the room. Copper rods arced and balanced atop one another in gravity-defying positions. I couldn’t tell if it was art or an engineering feat.

  Everything stood undisturbed, unlike Daniel’s apartment. I turned to scan the remainder of the room. A particular piece caught my eye, forcing me to stop. I blinked and leaned forwards.

  It was a canvas of all white. I wouldn’t have noticed it if it weren’t for the black-trimmed edges. Most of it was the same shade as the wall. A beige tag hung from the corner. My eyes grew twice as large after I read the figure listed on it. I blinked twice. It didn’t help me understand the piece, but it made sure I wasn’t hallucinating.

  I walked away from it realizing that art is confusing. So is its price.

  Another fixture of metal pipe work sat in the far corner, fashioned from solid steel. A layer of rust—fake from appearance—splotched the surface of some of the piping.

  The new hall was as dark as the previous room had been. Something like carpet resisted as my fingers trailed against the wall. I flipped the only switch available. Amethyst light flooded the room. It brought to life streaks of neon-like paint that danced across black boards on both sides of the hall. I took a moment to squint at the squiggles. My bones felt like they shifted on their own.

  The squiggly art conjured up a series of bad memories. They weren’t from Daniel. I shut my eyes and buried that last case I had in New York. My shoulders tightened before relaxing. I shook my head and made my way out of the hall.

  Repeating the process for the lights was tedious. You’d think modern buildings would have a more convenient setup. The new room was as untouched as the last. None of the art stood out. I gave it a detailed look-over anyway. Missing a possible clue was not an option.

  I rotated in place, taking everything in. Though I was an art novice, it was easy to spot the changes in the styles of art hanging from the walls. Every artist has their unique touch and preferences. Daniel’s pieces stood out at the beginning of the first wall. They transitioned into pieces from another artist with a flair for monochromatic schemes. I blinked when the art simply stopped.

  A twelve-foot section of the wall lay bare. I moved towards the wall, noting the supporting screws and brackets remained. Someone had their pieces taken down. I eyed the end of the wall. More artwork ran along from that point. I pursed my lips.

  It looked like an individual’s work that had been removed. Someone might take that personally. And it was a good motive to want some payback. But if this were simply about human vengeance, I wouldn’t be involved.

  Nobody said the paranormal made sense.

  I made a mental note of the missing art and moved on to the next hall.

  The sound of footsteps over tile is distinctive. Nearly everyone’s familiar with it. It’s ingrained in so many of us from years of field trips, visiting museums as children, as well as hospitals. Especially when it’s someone who’s on the hefty side.

  I raced down the hall towards the source without bothering to flip the lights. The newcomer had done me the courtesy of turning them on in the next room.

  My eyes reached owlish proportions when I saw him.

  He turned to face me. His face could have been pulled from the catalogs of Thugs-R-Us. The man’s thickset head could have been used for demolishing buildings. He made professional strongmen look tiny. Both his beady eyes and his dark bowler cap seemed too small for his head. And someone needed to help him shop for new clothes. They looked like they were lifted from the 1920s, only that era didn’t cater to men of his size. The buttons of the tweed coat strained against his belly.

  He opened his mouth and snarled.

  I shuddered. He needed to visit his dentist—fast. Or star as a warning for gingivitis. Well, for the teeth that remained.

  He jabbed a thick finger at me. “Who you?”

  How do you respond to that? “Uh, your grammar tutor as well as your stylist. I do in-person consultations, and your outfit needs work.” I waggled my finger from his hat down to his shoes.

  Kong the Giant blinked and squinted like he hadn’t understood a word I said. “What?”

  He wasn’t a bright guy. I hooked a thumb to my chest. “I’m the owner of this here gallery.”

  His eyes widened.

  “So, wanna tell me what you’re doing here—scratch that.” I waved a hand. “How’d you get in?” Heck, I had to work my ass off just to find the place and get here in one piece. Not to mention fumbling through keys and finding all the lights.

  His flabby face split into a wide, toothy grin. “I opened the back door. Secret door.”

  My face lost all expression. “You mean like a fire escape? An emergency door? Something...that has a silent alarm?”

  His face mirrored mine.

  Well, shit. The genius ruined my plan to skulk around for clues. I couldn’t walk away from this empty-handed though. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for Little Spirit. Going to smash him. Prove I’m best.” His grin grew as he folded a massive fist within his other. The sound of his knuckles cracking was like listening to splintering wood.

  I swallowed a gulp. Little Spirit? Smash him? That’s me! I gave him a weak smile and backpedaled. “Uh...good luck with the whole smash thing. Promise not to break anything, and I won’t have you arrested. I’m going to go now.” I gestured over my shoulder and turned.

  “Wait!”

  Oh crap.

  He sniffed the air several times. His eyes narrowed and shone like he had just won a prize. “You smell wrong.” Lips peeled back like the smile a wolf gives before it jumps its prey. “Smell like wrong spirit—wrong body.”

  I gulped louder.

  “Little Spirit I’m here to smoosh.”

  My brain turned to frozen pudding, and surge of cold electricity rolled down my spine to my toes. “You’re not human...are you?”

  His grin widened into something grotesque. The air shimmered like there was a curtain of light and faint traces of particulate glitter. It fell a second later.

  I sucked in a breath. Glamour. The magic used by the Fair Folk—faeries—to mask their true appearances. Not-so-fair in his case.

  His mass doubled, which was saying something.
The clothing vanished and was replaced by the sort of skin you’d find on a pachyderm. I wish his outfit stayed. It was outdated, but at least it covered the freak. He wore a mess of mismatched fabric tied together in a horrible loincloth.

  Layers of freakish muscle were roped atop each other in his arms. It was just wrong. His eyes were larger and the sort of yellow that accompanies nail fungus.

  I rubbernecked to take in my surroundings as fast as possible.

  The monster gave me a smile that made it clear I was on the menu.

  I remembered specifically asking for Daniel’s studio to be monster-free.

  “Oh, I hate trolls.”

  Chapter Five

  The beast lumbered forwards. His arms went out like he planned on giving me a hug. The last hug I’d ever need.

  “Nope!” I skirted to the side, turning the corner to race down the hall. “Screw this!”

  The troll snuffled behind me like he was nursing a horrible case of congestion. The sound that followed implied he had just cleared up that issue.

  I fought the urge to retch. That was all manner of disgusting. I pushed it from my mind and pumped my legs harder. Getting into a physical tussle with a troll is never a good idea. Anyone that does so is an idiot.

  I barreled into the next room and reeled as my foot caught on something. My body lurched to the side. I reached out and flailed my arms, hoping my hand would catch something. My fingers hooked on the edge of a painting. A grunt left my throat as one of its corners bounced off the front of my ribs. I winced and scrambled to my feet. I wasn’t fast enough.

  The troll shambled into the room and spotted me immediately.

  My job is horrible. Stay in school. Don’t die. Otherwise, you’ll end up like me.

  I smacked my hands against my thighs, dusting off my pants, and gave the troll a weary smile. “You’re not going to let me go, are you, big guy?”

  The troll shook his head. “No.” He touched a thumb to his chest. “Shum going to break you. Then Shum eat you.”

  “Oh, wow. And if I said I disagree with that plan?” I took a cautionary step back.