Chapter One:
The smell of death was overwhelming; the stench was a tangy, almost sweet decomposition, like rotting fruit. I could taste it at the back of my mouth, causing bile to churn threateningly in my stomach, my throat working to keep it down. Eyes closing briefly, I tried to rid the sight before me from my mind, but it was still fresh and vivid, etched into the back of my eye lids. I forced myself to look again, because unfortunately, it was my job to look.
As always, it's the eyes that get me. These ones were a soft, rich shade of brown that were often described as expressional; conveying so much emotion to whoever took the time to look deep enough. Now, they stared sightlessly ahead, fixed in horror at something the living couldn't't see. It was apparent that Abby Thomas knew that her death was looming, the fear yet unnerving understanding were preserved in the brown depths.
She was pretty, Abby, but it was obvious that she didn't think so, or at least, had a different image of beauty in her head. Her hair, once a chestnut brown, was now dyed a peroxide blonde, her dark roots showing, turning the top half of her head a blonde-ish green. Underneath the dirty orange tan, her natural creamy skin was becoming a faint pale blue, bloodless. Abby's face seemed the only thing that was still intact, compared to the neck down.
Her neck had been ripped open, as had her chest, stomach and lower abdomen. Her arms and leg were left untouched, but it seemed like poor compensation for the state that her torso looked like. She looked like a chuck of badly cut meat, with vital parts missing. Her rib cage was cleaved open, heart and lungs missing, alongside the fatty tissue that made up women's breasts. Her intestines hung out, the end seemed a little chewed, like a dog gnawing at a bone. I tried to avoid it, but the more professional part of my eye noticed that her uterus had been removed. My stomach lurched and for the second time, I attempted to control it.
I bent near the top end of the body, meeting forest green eyes from across, which regarded me cautiously. Detective Humter Finn Levelly was a touch son of a bitch - quite literally, being a werewolf. So, when Levelly was worried, the rest of us should be shitting ourselves. The fact that he didn't insult me was more than enough to inform me that this was bad, very bad, especially when he had seen more shit like this tha me. As I knelt opposite him, careful to avoid the blood drenched earth, with Abby's body between us, I tried to regain my cool demure. With gloved fingers, I gently moved Abby's wrist, the swollen flesh was ridged with rigor mortis, which said that she had died within twenty-four to thirty hours ago.
The reason why both Finn and I were so late in examining the body was that human police presumed the case to be an animal attack, finding it difficult to place anything supernatural to her body sate. That is, until they noticed that her uterus had disappeared. Unable to host the possibility that a human could do such a thing, they immediately called the Paranormal Guardian Hunter department, which catered for such paranormal situations. Of course, such things could be avoided if each force had a supernatural on the team. But good old prejudice prevented many humans from wanting to be in the same room as someone who was 'abnormal'. So we were reluctantly called in after duty won out over disgust. It didn't help that I wasn't an official member of the force, per say. Every PGH branch needed a different flavor of supernatural and I seemed like the only witch willing to help. Or could be bribed with designer shoes.
After a long silence, I raised a brow in question at Finn. "Abby Thomas, age twenty. Last seen alive leaving her night job, Dirty Angels, - a known strip bar catering for both humans and the super natural - at three Sunday morning." I checked my watch, it was just going on nine Tuesday morning, which meant that within thirty hours, Abby had been abducted, mauled, lacerated and dumped in a ditch, where she had spent the last twenty-four hours or so, decomposing and waiting to be found.
"Her flat mate reported her missing when she didn't show up on Monday; she said that her phone wasn't ringing. She contacted Dirty Angel's - they told her that Abby left with every intention of going home since she had been working overtime." Finn's voice was cool, devoid of emotion. It was a trick you learned after a few years on the force, after you seen too much death and blood, that you just go on autopilot, assessing the situation without feeling. Finn Levelly had been on the force before super naturals came out of the closet, so to speak, four years ago. When the Supernatural Registration Act was passed - where your name and species were recorded and accessible to every employer in the country - many 'Naturals in the army, navy and force were under a lot of fire. It was only recently that PGH departments were set up and that was after a lot of pro-'Naturals politicians argued that we needed to police our own if humans wanted to be safe.
Finn never talked about the shit he received from so-called friends, who turned on him the moment they discovered he turned furry once a month. I mean, I friggin' bleed out my vagina once a month, but then, a lot of men discriminate because of that too. "She was a stripper - one with a penchant for vampires." Finn's voice pulled me out of my retrieve. Automatically, my gaze darted to her neck, the tears around it were jagged, like there was spaces between the teeth - or possibly claws. Whatever damage done to her neck wasn't because of vampire fangs.
Noting my confusion, Finn explained; "Femoral artery." I felt my stomach heave. Oh, Abby sure liked vampires, since she allowed them to drink form the most intimate part of a woman's body. "It wasn't a vampire," My Irish accent came out thick than normal; maybe because I was too busy trying to repress vomit to tone it down. Finn waited expectantly for me to elaborate. "The blood," I waved a hand over the stained earth that we knelt in. "A vampire takes blood from its victim - its instinct. The only bite marks on her body was between her thighs. The blood came from her chest and abdomen - the obvious killing wound."
Finn nodded, like I had just confirmed something he already suspected. His shocking red hair lowered as he bent to take a closer look. "Were?" I asked, mainly because I was sure that Finn would recognize the kill of his own kind. "Possibly," his voice was thoughtful as he studied Abby's untouched face, not bothering to look up. "Its savage enough, but the full moon isn't due until next week. If it is a wolf - it's a rouge one."
I shivered, not because of the early morning cold either. Rouge wolves are savage, mindless beasts that force upon the Change without the aid of the full moon. It's when their human side is taken over by their inner wolf, killing brutally. I have thankfully never come in contact with a rouge wolf, though I heard enough to be careful when crossing a wolf when there was no full moon. Not that you would cross a wolf on a full moon either, but you know.
Finn raised his head, shaking it slightly. "I don't smell wolf," It took me a moment to notice that there was a ring of gold around his green eyes, and that the shape around them seemed more angular than what was human. Partial shift. I looked away, mainly because I didn't want Finn Levelly to see the surprise on my face. Once again, I found myself drawn to Abby's eyes. Without realising, I leaned forward, closer to Abby's face, just like Finn had moments earlier.
There was something there, a faint wisp of a smell that toyed with me, something I knew but just couldn't remember. I edged closer, so that my nose almost brushed Abby's, from anyone else's point of view, it would have looked like I was kissing her. There, so faint that I could have so easily have missed it. The burn of Sulphur tickled at the inside of my nose. If you were raised by magic wielders with any sense or any kind of morals, you would have been told from day one that Sulphur was the smell of evil. And by evil, they meant demons.
Now, demons are some dangerous shit - trust me, I learned the hard way. Since I'm not the whitest witch on the block, I am the first to admit that I had a rebellious adolescence which led me to believe that a demon would help me pass my A-levels. Trust me, I did, but I came out of the whole ordeal with a small, barbed-wire-like tattoo on my left wrist. A small reminder that I'm in debt to the demon that helped me. For the last five years, since being eighteen, I hadn't heard a word from the demon. Something that is more of a worry than a relief. Those sons of a bitch never forget.
Which lead me back to Abby. Who would want to kill her by means of a demon? Dealing with a demon is soul-shattering shit and if your request is big enough, you may be required to pay a human sacrifice as a tribute. So, was Abby's death a request or a tribute? Somehow the latter seemed more likely. I relayed my thoughts to Finn.
"A demon?" his frown made him seem years older than twenty-seven. I wriggled my nose a little in attempt to rid the burn of Sulphur, which earned me a strange look from Finn. "So, we can presume that our suspect is a witch?" Finn's eyes had returned to normal, which was a bit of a relief. "Or a shaman." I corrected. "In fact, there are a number of magic wielders that are capable to summon a demon." Yes, but few had the knowledge or the power. Or maybe a lot just had a good dose of sense.
"Like you?" Finn's voice was soft, his eyes intent on my left wrist. Werewolves are inexperienced with demons, a reason to why Finn hadn't noticed the Sulphur, but I'm around London's PGH force as the witch with a taste for the dark side. So star trek.
"Yeah," I looked away, rising from Abby's body and Finn. "Like me." I turned making my way back to my sleek, shiny black Lamborghini. No, I didn't pay for this out of the money I earned in LPGH, but I do have other jobs and yes, their legal, most of the time. I sighed, switching on the engine. I would have to interrogate Abby's flat mate alongside the manager of Dirty Angels and a few work colleagues, top that all off with a report. Well aren't I just the happy farmer, eh?
Yeah, like fuck I am.