Chapter Thirteen

Another apartment in another less-than-stellar part of town, awash in flashing police lights and a sea of blue uniforms.

Farren exited his task-force-issued car and picked his way around a few gawkers.

“Demon!” Farren heard from behind, followed by snickers and the speaker coughing into his hand. After ten years serving with the task force, Farren should have gotten used to the insult by now, but with each recruit came someone else who thought themselves so clever, believing they alone thought up the slur. He’d have words with the offender’s trainer later about the confidentiality agreement and the fact the cops roamed the area who might hear the epithet and wonder at its meaning.

Maybe Farren should simply prove the man right. Nope. He’d agreed to certain rules upon joining the FBI, keeping other skills hidden as a matter of self-preservation. If Leary found out how much Farren’s powers had grown, it might cause open season on travelers. Most were completely innocent. However, even if only point one percent weren’t, they were still out there.

Devon stood off to the side, interviewing a witness, one of the few human team members who didn’t look down his nose at Farren. Certainly not at Arianna.

“Corpse fucker,” a team member muttered.

What? A human belittling their own kind? In Farren’s opinion, Devon was the best of the humans assigned to the team. No wonder Arianna had her eyes on him.

But corpse fucker? Farren turned, glowering at the asshole who dared to spout nonsense, then giving a smirk. “You should try it sometime. Or maybe that’s your problem. You fantasize about a walk on the wild side, but can’t find any takers.” Petty, yes, but sometimes, the temptation grew too much.

Corpse fucker. Asshole.

Both good and bad in every group. Farren had met his share of bad humans. Bad travelers, too. At least the travelers under Leary’s command behaved themselves.

He ignored the glares and climbed the stairs to the floor of the apartment building. Cops might not know his nature, but they couldn’t miss the wide berth others on Farren’s team gave him. Yellow crime scene tape and muttering voices guided him to the correct apartment.

Officers lingered outside the door, not allowed to enter until Farren made an assessment. But he couldn’t let them come in if he even suspected a traveler lurked who’d be more than happy to take over an unsuspecting human’s body.

Magestra couldn’t be co-opted.

Farren stretched his senses. No portals nearby, no steady thrum of energy from a disembodied traveler. No smell of blood. Atlanta PD found the body during a welfare check.

A box of booties and gloves sat on a chair by the door. Farren slipped a pair of booties over his shoes.

A trace of herbs lingered in the air, a scent the reeking alley had concealed during Morrisey”s attack. This was a mere whiff, like lingering perfume. A traveler had definitely been here.

Farren followed the scent trail with painstaking slowness. A lifeless figure occupied the bed. The herbal scent nearly overpowered him here. Instincts he’d long depended on confirmed this was a definite traveler kill, but the killer hadn’t fed first from anger, fear, or sex. They’d simply killed by kicking out the original consciousness, which had nowhere else to go.

Then they deserted the body for a new one.

Which meant they were looking for a traveler who’d been in Terra long enough to become accustomed to eating like humans. Farren couldn’t identify the class of the traveler, which also meant many years, perhaps decades, spent on this plane of existence.

No marks on the body, which rested peacefully on the bed. Had the host even known they were dying, or had they left this plane long ago? Farren had only a couple of minutes before Atlanta PD forced him to leave the apartment.

He donned gloves and dug through the evidence. According to the driver’s license in her purse, she’d been Maria Stillwell, forty-two. The report showed she’d never been married, no children. They’d have to hunt for family in this case.

Farren meandered through the corridor to the bathroom, keeping his senses open for any evidence. Prescription bottles lined the medicine cabinet. Hydrocodone, oxycodone. Had Maria succumbed to an overdose? No. The entire room stank of possession.

The toilet seat was in the up position. Farren wandered into the living room. The faint hint of cheap men’s cologne and pot smoke hung the air. Huh.

Farren went back to the bedroom. A short dress hung over a chair; the kind Arianna might wear out clubbing. Had the traveler in Maria brought someone to her apartment and stolen his body?

An autopsy would show the truth, but Farren bet a traveler had body snatched and gotten the hell out. No suicide note. No pill bottle by the bed. Maria’s tidiness just might be her downfall.

There really should be a census on travelers.

No telling how long the traveler lived in Maria’s body.

Farren lay down beside the victim, touching the bare skin of his wrist to hers. Nothing. The human part of this body had been gone too long for him to access memories. This close, however, he caught a hint of decay beneath the herbal notes. Cancer. She’d had cancer, a sickness the traveler couldn’t heal.

He sat up, regarding the woman he couldn’t save. Farren’s mind flashed to his soon-to-be partner. How could he explain this murder to a guy who’d just discovered another somewhat dirty world bleeding into the life he’d known?

Carefully. Now, not only were they dealing with a rogue nurse they at least had details on, but an unknown man.

Perhaps news of a missing person might come in. Or maybe the traveler who’d been posing as Maria would take over her victim’s life, pretend to be them.

That would make the traveler harder to track, especially since it would be Farren”s responsibility to start the investigation and turn his files over to humans on the task force. FAET considered Farren”s time more valuable in the field. Besides, he could heal from a bullet better than his human counterparts.

Still, this was the fifth traveler this month who committed murder and eluded capture.

The dress. If Maria met the victim in a club, maybe she’d appear on video somewhere, with her mystery man, or a social media post. Or had left a paper trail of credit card payments

One could hope.

Sometimes Farren hated his kind.

Farren didn’t normally drink, but tonight he needed fortification and the touch of humanity. If, by chance, he found someone interesting to go home with, well, he wouldn’t say no. Provided that he checked in with the compound, he could stay out all night. Thank the humans’ god. So far, he had not been obligated to confess his origins to his one-night stands. To do so would cause panic. If the crime rate kept spiking, though…

He imagined his fellow travelers wearing badges to proclaim their status, being gunned down for their otherness. It only took a few bad ones to spoil everything for the good.

The bar and grill wasn’t far from where he’d met Morrisey, but distant enough from the FBI offices to minimize the chances of Farren running into anyone he knew.

The thing he wanted the least was to hear a hissed ”demon” on his off time. Arianna wasn”t around to join him for a drink, and neither were the other travelers Farren had encountered in the past. They all thought he’d haul them in for banishment for the smallest infraction, except Arianna, who’d dared him to try on several occasions.

Not hardly. After years of seeing the worst two worlds offered, the traveler equivalent of jaywalking didn’t even get his notice.

Hey, was that… The man turned around. Nope, not Morrisey.

Morrisey. Couldn’t he get out of Farren’s brain even for a moment? Would he be bold to be seen together outside of work, or would he, too, regard Farren with suspicion?

Farren found a place at the bar, ordering beer and nachos, foods his host body seemed to have a love-hate relationship with. Pretty busy tonight. He turned to watch the crowd. They were all humans other than the bartender, who gave a slight wave in acknowledgement of their kinship. The traveler version of a secret handshake.

There Hank was, proof of good travelers existing. He hadn’t stolen a body but had salvaged one from a dying man. Now he worked hard, married, and fathered a baby.

A human baby with no traveler traits. Hank could be a poster child for blending in.

Farren watched the crowd for a while until one beer too many sent him in search of the men’s room. The lingering memories of the host he possessed whined, Dude, do you have any idea what you’re doing to our body with all these carbs?

Farren didn’t reply. If a certain someone hadn’t taken a liking to drugs, they wouldn’t be having the conversation to begin with. Although a few memories remained, there was actually no thinking entity left to argue with. The initial incarnation of Farren Austen had departed from the world a long time ago.

A man entered the bar as Farren returned from the men’s room, all long-limbed and none too graceful, cracking one hand on a table as he made his way across the room. He looked neither right nor left, heading straight for the bar. A man on a mission.

Morrisey. Farren’s mouth went dry. Had he somehow summoned the man simply by thinking? No, summoning wasn”t one of Farren”s powers, though he”d never actually tried to bring someone through from a different realm—an illegal act. Only the ones who accidentally found themselves here were allowed—at least officially, though a more unenforceable rule never existed. Even then, people in the know treated travelers with suspicion.

So far, no one questioned too closely how Farren got here.

Should he say hello? Start up a conversation? But no. Farren and Morrisey might wind up as work partners. Morrisey having a live-in male partner for years didn’t mean he’d be amenable to a few fun but ultimately meaningless hours with Farren.

Besides. If Morrisey became Farren’s partner, eventually, Farren would need to confess his nature. Oh, boy, the “Where are you from?” talk never went well. Would Morrisey scream and run like any others Leary had tried to team Farren with?

Farren remained single for reasons on and off the job.

He resigned himself to another beer and a few fantasies about the intriguing detective down the bar. Maybe he’d recall the images with his right hand later tonight.

A stunning blonde entered a short while later, beelining straight for Morrisey.

Farren’s muscles bunched, ready to spring into action. What did she want?

Morrisey and the woman chatted briefly before Morrisey stood, paid his bill, and strolled out alone, eyeing an older human man in passing. Wow! If looks could kill.

Hell, of the two men, Farren would certainly have stuck with Morrisey.

Wait!The blonde was a traveler. No, not a traveler, but she carried a traveler. A traveler sharing a body. What? Most just took what they wanted, leaving their victims dead or at the very least incapacitated.

Had Morrisey known? Yes, of course he had. He could see them, though sharing a body muted the traveler’s aura. And Morrisey appeared unalarmed. Meeting a traveler. Why? Oh, the questions Farren could ask.

The older man approached the bar, taking the seat Morrisey left. He spoke to the blonde in short, clipped tones. Arrogance oozed from him. Not for long. She would soon put him in his place. They weren’t the kind to suffer fools lightly, dealing with others as they’d been dealt with. Later. For now, Farren drank his beer, observing her as she made newcomer cry.

“Stop him!” came from the opposite side of the room near the pool tables.

Farren edged closer.

A surprisingly strong gray-haired man had a beautiful younger man by the throat on the floor. The young man thrashed. Others tried to pull the older man away, but he shrugged them off.

Even over beer, fried meat, and body odor, Farren caught a whiff of herbs.

The old man paused, his gaze meeting Farren’s. A traveler. An old one who’d slipped in without notice.

This traveler locked eyes with Farren, freezing briefly before launching to his feet, hurtling toward the exit faster than a man who appeared so ancient should.

Farren dropped his beer onto the nearest table, tuning out the indignant “Hey!” of protest, and charged toward the door.

A cluster of humans gawked, impeding Farren’s progress. “Let me through!”

“Excuse you!” an angry woman snipped, sloshing her drink.

No time for pleasantries, not when she’d let Farren’s prey escape. He exerted a mental push to get them out of his way and charged out the main entrance. “Where’d the old man go?” he shouted.

The muscle-bound bouncer shot a thumb over one shoulder, never shifting his attention from his cell phone.

Farren shot down the sidewalk. Damn, the traveler was fast.

He ran, but not fast enough to alert anyone to his otherness. His quarry wasn’t so cautious. As soon as Farren got away from people, he put on a burst of speed most humans couldn’t manage. What type of traveler attacked someone in a crowded bar? In the presence of human witnesses?

A desperate one. Or an arrogant one.

Farren stopped, listening to the night, the distant sound of cars. Fuck. Abandoned warehouses lined both sides of the street. Too many hiding places.

Farren stuffed down his humanness, opening himself to skills he’d brought from Domus. Arms out to his sides, he slowly turned in a circle, reaching out with a receptive mind. The same mechanism that once allowed feasting on the atmosphere also allowed him to connect with others of his kind, at least when relatively free of distractions. Closer… closer… There! Farren opened his eyes, shooting across the street and past an open entrance.

Now he stopped again, keeping senses humans didn’t have in play. A disturbance in the atmosphere, some strange, indefinable thing told of his quarry’s location. Slowly, slowly… Farren rested his hand lightly on a handrail, taking the stairs quietly. He maintained an even tone. “You violated our laws by attacking a man tonight,” he stated, not expecting an answer.

From overhead came a belligerent, “Human laws. They don’t rule us.”

One problem with the older ones: they’d been here long enough to feel superior. ”While you continue to live among them, they do. You’ve also violated the rules of Domus against willfully harming others.”

“We aren’t there, are we?” came the snippy reply.

Now to keep the elder talking to pinpoint his location. ”Why did you target the man in the bar?”

“This body is dying beyond my skill to repair. I saw how women lusted for the human, men too. He also had money. I’ve never found a more perfect host. You let him get away!”

The nerve of the traveler, blaming Farren for doing his job. He extended his senses. A Princeps. Really? No wonder the man exuded an inflated ego, having come from Domus’s ruling class. Many Princeps had disappeared from Domus, but Farren had found few here. Either they didn’t complete the trip successfully, or they’d found themselves elsewhere. “I cannot let you take him. I swore to uphold the peace in our realm and this one. You attempted murder.”

The man gasped. “You’re Magestra.”

Farren nodded automatically, though his quarry couldn’t see the gesture. “Yes. In both realms.”

“I didn’t sense you! You look like a human.”

”What type of peacekeeper would I be if you could?” Farren might need to discuss that with Morrisey one day.

The man whimpered, dropping all pretense of arrogance. Even the Princeps weren’t above the Magestra’s jurisdiction. “I needed a new body! He’s only a human.”

“And killing someone, even though their body survives, is murder.”

The man repeated, tone imploring, “He’s just a human. No one important.”

“You live in a human world. You’re old. How many lives have you taken? Too many to count?” Travelers like this one would be the reason the humans finally turned on them. Right now, diplomats negotiated with the government to allow those from the dying realm to stay. Even with help, few would survive. Fewer still if humans believed this man’s mindset represented all of Farren’s kind.

No wonder humans called them demons.

Farren climbed the stairs, no longer trying to hide his footfalls. A change in the atmosphere made him swerve, barely avoiding the pipe swung at his middle. He grabbed the railing to avoid toppling over.

Footfalls pounded away.

Shit.

Farren’s overbalancing bought the attacker a head start, but the older traveler had a weakness. They tended to get lost in the passage of years, forgetting that current times were nothing like a few decades ago.

Like cell phone flashlights. Farren’s eyesight might be keener than a human’s, but flashing the light in the attacker’s face won back lost time. One second. Just one measly second…

The man recovered, sprinting up three more floors, six sets of stairs, and three landings. Farren leaped at a wall ladder, then scrambled straight up.

The man rounded the last landing and charged up the final stairs to the roof.

Farren stepped ahead of him, Glock in hand. “You are under arrest for attempted murder.” Standing this close revealed the truth of the matter in the man’s faded aura, tinged with black. He’d killed and killed again for personal gain. His target in the bar would be his third attempt this week alone. The other two bodies had gone into shock and died from clumsy handling. “Correction. The charge is murder,” he amended. Murder meant no pleas, no negotiations. Just banishment.

The man wheezed, his body’s age showing. He swiveled his head one way, then another. No other escape but back down the stairs.

Which would give Farren a clean shot.

Farren spoke slowly, keeping his voice calm. “If you refuse to come peacefully, I’m authorized to banish you on the spot. One rogue traveler can break the treaty we have with the humans. Too many lives depend on the treaty. Make your choice.”

The man came straight for Farren. Farren fired. And fired again.

The man slammed into him, propelling them both to the floor. Hot blood flowed over Farren’s cheek. The man pressed both hands to Farren’s temples.

Agony shot through Farren’s brain, hot, bright…

Short-lived.

“Possession doesn’t work on the Magestra,” Farren growled. It just gave the mother of all headaches.

No amount of practice made the ordeal easier. Gun pressed between their bodies, Farren pulled the trigger.

The man gasped, then rolled off.

This time, Farren returned the head clasp, focusing on the void. A portal opened within his consciousness. Beneath him, the traveler choked out a final breath, entering the portal and leaving behind a body.

Farren peered downward at his bloodstained shirt and hands, the color hardly discernible in the low illumination of a streetlight through sooty windows. The iron smell of blood had become all too familiar lately.

He wiped his hands on the man’s pants, pulled out his phone again, and called dispatch.

As he sat by the body, waiting for the containment team, he shone his cell phone flashlight over the corpse’s face, leathery with age.

A man relinquished his life for the benefit of another”s, likely against his will, unless the traveler found a dying body to possess. Judging by the being”s attitude and flashes of insight, Farren doubted he”d been so considerate.

How many bodies had the traveler possessed throughout the decades, murdering humans to take their place? More and more these days, Farren wondered how many from Domus truly meant no harm.

He couldn’t blame the humans for their suspicions.