Hot Demon Nights

I frowned. “I thought you were a member of the PIT crew.”

“On my own terms. I assist with investigations when I feel it’s necessary. As one of the paranorms—as the good detective likes to call us—I’m concerned when our existence is threatened.”

“And these zombies are threatening your existence?”

“Most of us just want to blend in, live in peace and be left alone. When someone steps out of line, I help clean up the mess. Either as part of the PIT crew, or on my own.”

I snorted. “Very noble.”

“Simple self-preservation.”

“I thought you were immortal.”

“Demons live forever if left alone. But there are ways to kill a demon.”

Good to know.

The taxi slid to a stop in front of a sign for the Murray Crematorium.

“Remind me to ask about those ways to kill a demon.” I slid out my side and stepped up on the curb.

Blaise chuckled as he joined me. “I’m not convinced that would be such a good idea for me.”

“Damn right.” I pushed through the open door into the softly lit entrance painted in light gray and mauve, soothing colors for those contemplating toasting a loved one.

But there was nothing soothing about this location for someone with a nose like mine. More so, I hated the smell of dead people, and the place practically reeked of death.

A man in a—you guessed it—gray suit stepped out of an office, his fingers steepled, a slippery smile on his face. Not too much, not too little, but just enough of a smile to reassure a would-be customer.

Creepy.

“May I help you?” he inquired.

“Are you the owner?” I asked.

He nodded like the butler on the Addams Family. Seriously chill-worthy.

I flipped my badge open. “We’re with the NYC police department, investigating the apparent theft of three bodies from your premises.”

The man’s plastered-on, fake smile dipped into a ghoulish frown and he glanced behind us as if afraid someone might come through the front door and overhear us. “Please, step into my office.”

I did and turned to face him immediately. Blaise followed the man, effectively trapping him between the two of us.

“As I told the detective on the telephone earlier—” the owner started.

Blaise raised a finger. “That would be me.”

“—I was out of town those days. Marcus Dunham was the employee in charge of receiving and processing the remains of the three gentlemen. He hasn’t shown up for work in the past two days and he’s not answering his telephone at home. I didn’t know he’d…misplaced…the clients until the call this morning. I’ve gone over and over the paperwork and it’s all in order. I don’t know what could have happened.”

“Have you conducted a complete inventory of…clients?” I asked. “Are there any more missing than the original three?”

“We don’t make it a habit to keep our clients any longer than necessary.” The man straightened, his back stiff, his chin tipping upward until I could see the hairs in his nostrils. Ick. Not a pretty sight. “We run a dignified establishment. This is the first and only time such a travesty has occurred, I assure you.”

I was inclined to believe him. It was clear he took pride in the business, and wouldn’t want anything to damage the company’s reputation—like word getting out that a dead body in his care went on a rampage. “We’re going to need the name and address of the employee who accepted and redirected the bodies. Also, are there any video cameras?”

The man blinked. “Why would we need cameras? Most of our clients aren’t in the habit of walking out of here. But I will get you that address.” He strode to a mahogany file cabinet in the corner of the office and opened the bottom drawer, selecting a file from within. He jotted a name and address on a notepad, ripped off the top sheet and handed it to me. “Do I need to go to the police station to file missing persons reports on the clients that were stolen from here?”

“I suggest you do that.” Now that I had what I needed, there was no point in sticking around. The place smelled of death and ash, cleverly, if not completely, disguised by a rose-scented candle burning on the man’s desk. “They will want a statement and any other information you might have.”

Blaise followed me out the door.

Once outside, I inhaled deeply, sucking in the polluted air of New York as if it was the nectar of the gods. The stench of death clung to my leather jacket, even as we hurried to the curb to hail a taxi.

The employee who’d stolen or sold the bodies lived in Brooklyn, a short taxi ride away. As I lifted a hand to wave down a taxi, I brushed against a teenager who smelled distinctly of dog.

“Werewolf,” Blaise confirmed.

I spun to check out the young man who wore jeans and a hoodie sweatshirt, plugged into an MP3 player, like any other teenaged human. “Really?”

The teen glanced my way. When he noticed I was watching him, he glared and turned his back to me, hurrying away.

“Anyone tell you it isn’t nice to stare?” Demon partner hooked my elbow and dragged me around to face the street. “It’s not as though he’ll change in public.”

Heat blossomed in my cheeks, and I forced myself to look away from where the teen had blended into the foot traffic on the sidewalk. “I can’t help it. This is crazy. You mean, all the years I thought my nose was playing tricks on me, it was right on the money?”

Blaise’s brows drew together. “How long have you been aware of your extra-sensitive sniffer?”

I shrugged. “My mother always said I liked to sniff my blankets when I was a baby. I could tell which one was my favorite, even half asleep and with my eyes closed. Why?”

“Are you sure you don’t have were-blood in you? You’re not a demon with special powers or anything?”

I snorted. “Hell, no.” I stopped. At least, I didn’t think I was.

“Were you born in Chicago? There are plenty of paranorms there, as you probably already suspected. Can you trace your lineage back on both your mother’s and father’s sides?”

My back stiffened. I didn’t like talking about my father. What had he ever done for me or my mother? “I don’t have a father.”

“What do you mean?” Tall, dark and demon leaned casually against the back of the seat, but I could sense when he’d tensed.

“He was a jerk. He left my mother when my brother was born. Not that it’s any of your business.” I turned away from him, in the opposite direction of the werewolf teen. Even after all the years of being alone, the pain I felt over my father’s desertion left me cold. The blow had been an especially tough one for my mother. She’d had to struggle to support me and my baby brother, working long, hard hours, barely able to afford a babysitter much less put food on the table.

The heartache of my father’s desertion paled in comparison to my little brother’s disappearance when he was only five years old. There in the playground one moment, gone the next. My mother never got over his loss. I’d been twelve at the time. Mom had hung on long enough to see me graduate from high school before she passed away. I attributed everything wrong in her life to poor living conditions and a broken heart. If my father had been half a man, he’d have stuck around and helped her. But maybe my ideas about what a man should be were totally off base. Lord knows I’d never found one that lived up to my ideal.