Chapter Eighteen

Farren stood at Arianna’s desk, waiting for Morrisey to exit the elevator since security reported his arrival on the compound. Farren held out a hand. “You owe me ten bucks.”

“I said he wouldn’t last a week. This is only his second day on the job,” Arianna muttered.

“I believe your exact words were, ‘He won’t last five minutes.’ Pay up.”

“Spoilsport.” Arianna fished in her oversized handbag, finally pulling out a ten. ”I have no idea why I”m giving this to you. I’m only going to win it back.”

“Allow me to wallow in my rare victory.” Farren tucked the ten into his pocket. The elevator chimed, and the door swished open.

Morrisey hadn’t shaved. Why the scruff did things to Farren’s insides, he couldn’t say. “Good morning, Morrisey,” he said, as though he hadn’t worried all night about Morrisey running away. “Are you ready to get started?”

“I am.” Morrisey kept a distance from Arianna’s desk as he started down the hallway. Farren matched his stride.

Arianna giggled and called after them. “I don’t bite! That’s just a rumor.”

Farren turned his head just enough to look into Morrisey’s face. “You know many rumors are founded in truth, don’t you?”

Morrisey”s mouth fell agape.

Farren chuckled. “Just kidding. Arianna is good people, regardless of what world she’s in.” He sauntered down the passageway, turned right at Leary”s office, and opened the next door. “This will be your office.”

He followed Morrisey inside. The space wasn’t nearly as large as Leary’s office but larger than Farren’s. Farren gladly sacrificed space not to work next to the boss.

The office contained a desk and chair, a small bookcase, and a round table with three chairs. A laptop sat on the table.

“Ah, I see Sykes has been here.” Faren deposited his backpack on the floor, removed his laptop, and set up shop next to Morrisey’s.

Morrisey sat and stared at his newly assigned laptop, watching the status bar for the million updates accumulated since the last time anyone used the aging Dell. No need to break out a new model until Morrisey showed he’d stay long enough to need an upgrade.

Farren would have to requisition a new computer and anything else needed to equip an office. He pulled folders and papers out of his backpack, arranging them on the table. “Would you like coffee or breakfast?”

“No, thanks. I’m ready to get started.” Morrisey looked haggard, which might be his default appearance. At least he didn”t reek of alcohol.

Farren called up a photo on his laptop. “Here is the nurse we suspect your alley attacker now possesses. Her name is Veronica Henry. She hasn’t been seen since leaving the hospital, and her roommates say they haven’t heard from her. They’re supposed to call the moment they do. We’ve got Atlanta PD staking out her house.”

“What about her car? Cell phone?”

”They found her car in the hospital”s parking garage, and her phone lying nearby.”

Morrisey huffed out a breath. “Lucky someone didn’t steal it.”

Farren relaxed enough to smile. “They did. We found it anyway, at a pawnshop where the thief tried to sell it.”

“Sometimes I hate people.”

Farren quirked a half smile. “They’re not so bad. Or most of them aren’t.” If he told himself the lie enough times, perhaps he’d believe it.

Morrisey sneered. “Yeah, right.”

Okay, no time to get into Morrisey’s grudges against his own kind right now. “We received no reports of attacks or sightings. Looks like our traveler is lying low.”

“Or they left the city.” Morrisey leaned close, studying the nurse’s picture.

“Doubtful. Travelers seem to settle around other travelers.” Morrisey’s cologne reminded Farren of a summer day. Humans often covered their natural scents with chemical products. In Domus, Farren could’ve identified a perpetrator through scent alone.

Morrisey scrutinized Farren with his dark eyes. “Why?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe some are afraid to venture far from where they arrived.” Although Farren hadn’t minded leaving LA. One traveler of his acquaintance lived a reclusive life in a cabin in the mountains.

“Couldn’t the traveler have taken another body by now?”

“Body exchanges require a great deal of energy. Our traveler is an occisor and likely won’t abandon the nurse unless absolutely necessary. In that case, we’d likely have found a body, and we’re monitoring the morgues.”

Morrisey folded his arms over his chest. “Ah, I see this job is going to be just as pleasant as my last one.”

“I’m sorry to tell you, but it’ll probably be worse. We have a bulletin out on Ms. Henry.” Farren minimized the nurse’s picture to click on an image of the house from Morrisey’s last case. “Am I right in thinking you want to continue with your last case?”

Morrisey sucked in a breath. Some color drained from his face. “Damned right I do.”

“Okay, we have our interview from the hospital. The children saw nothing, and we found no fingerprints. Of course, some travelers can hide their presence. We haven”t fully explored the range of talents a traveler might gain after reaching Terra.” Farren shrugged. If humans new the full extent… Then again, even Farren didn’t know. And he should. Had someone higher up in rank considered such? “Three attackers carried out the murders, given the condition of the bodies, though one sustained severe injury.” He opened a folder on the desk. “Here’s the autopsy report on the first victim.”

Morrisey studied the report, barely flinching at the graphic details, having seen the carnage firsthand. “Occisors are sick bastards, aren’t they?”

“Yes. Their goal is to get as much terror out of the victims as possible. Then they feast on the emotion.” If Farren hadn’t been watching closely, he might’ve missed Morrisey’s shudder. So, he wasn’t impervious after all.

“How soon until they strike again?”

“A kill of this nature could hold them over for three to six months. We’ll need to find them before then.” Farren prayed to whatever deity might be listening for the occisors to be found before more innocent people lost their lives. Domus didn’t have anyone to pray to. His cell phone rang. “Austen,” he answered, not bothering to check the screen. Only his team had his number.

“Where are you? Is James with you?” Tension filled Leary’s words, which might or might not mean problems. Sometimes he forgot niceties in conversations. Okay, most times.

“I’m in Morrisey’s office,” Farren replied, a little kick in his chest warning of danger. “And yes, he’s here.”

Leary blew a long breath over the phone. “Look, I know he’s new, but there’s been activity at Veronica Henry’s house. I need you to go.”

Farren stored details in his memory, disconnected the call, and told Morrisey, “I think our nurse tried to go home.”

Without batting an eyelash, Morrisey stood. “I live to eat and kick some ass, and I’ve already had breakfast.”

He might work out after all.

If he survived the day.

The brick and siding two-story house sat on a quiet, tree-lined street in a neighborhood with BMWs parked in driveways or pricey trucks visible through open garage doors, though many residents should be at work. A few folks on porches gawked at the six squad cars flashing lights at the end of a cul-de-sac.

Squad cars didn’t bode well for what they might find.

Clipped conversations squawked through radios when Farren exited an FBI-assigned car. Atlanta PD officers watched Farren and Morrisey with suspicion in their eyes. They weren’t told what set Farren and Morrisey apart other than they were FBI specialists, but local cops didn’t like deferring to federal agencies.

A few likely recognized Morrisey from Atlanta PD.

Farren ignored them, trudging past a half dozen uniformed officers to the open front door, reassured by Morrisey’s steady footsteps behind him.

Why, though? Farren was an alien. A motherfucking honest-to-goodness alien, at least in the eyes of humans. Though Morrisey had likely met worse people who wore suits and ties and pretended to be superior to everyone else.

Farren accepted gloves and shoe covers at the front door, donning his and waiting for Morrisey to do the same.

Morrisey took a long breath, cheeks blowing out with his exhale. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly in and out. His demeanor changed when he reopened them. Gone was the grumpy cop. All emotion fled. Morrisey stepped inside the room on a mission, taking in details. Farren could almost see wheels turning in Morrisey’s mind.

Morrisey took a few steps and turned, performing a sweeping grid pattern, gaze firmly fixed on whatever lay directly in front of him. He took out a notepad and pen from his pocket, proceeding to scrawl on the paper in a seemingly erratic pattern.

Farren drew closer. Morrisey didn’t seem to register anything but the room, not even looking at the pen and paper.

Farren angled to catch a glimpse. His breath caught. Morrisey had drawn a perfect diagram of the scene, the placement of furniture, the odds and ends lying around.

“They found the bodies in the bedroom,” Farren said.

“Something happened out here.” Morrisey pointed to a cell phone lying on the floor, then to a nearby shoe. “See that? This room is immaculate. Those things didn’t happen by chance.” He continued drawing a perfect sketch of the room before wandering farther into the house.

He stopped in the hallway, stooping low. A single drop of blood stained the carpet. Morrisey once more performed his mapping ritual, checking every room, staying in some only a minute. Finally, he led the way to the back of the house, where the blood scent grew cloying.

Morrisey stopped at a bedroom doorway, flipping his notepad to another page. The herbal tang was much stronger here. For long moments he simply stood there, swiveling his head slowly from left to right. Farren hardly noticed the movement at all, only that he’d moved.

“What do you smell?” Farren asked.

“What? Smell? I can’t smell nothing but blood.”

The blood was overpowering, so maybe Morrisey couldn’t smell the distinct traveler scent, or maybe he lacked the ability. Just because he saw travelers for what they were didn’t mean he’d have more Magestra-style talents.

Morrisey stepped into the room, pausing at the first body. Farren didn’t need a comparison photo to determine the victim—the nurse and unlikely host to the traveler who’d tried to possess Morrisey. Switching bodies twice within a short period took immense power.

The traveler had eaten well prior to the first attack.

The nurse’s body remained intact. The blood smeared on her clothing and hands belonged to someone else. A bloody knife and a corkscrew littered the floor.

The other two victims weren’t so lucky.

Another female lay nearby, one foot missing a shoe. The shoe from the living room. The lack of blood in the living room and one drop on the hall carpet said she’d run into this room where she’d met her fate. Farren squatted by the body. Stab wounds covered her arms and neck, and bloody cuts marked defensive wounds on her hands. She’d gone down fighting. Closer examination showed samples of the perp’s skin beneath her fingernails. A golden chain hung from her neck that a thief would’ve stolen.

The third victim lay facedown on the carpet in a pool of blood, hands protectively covering her head. She wore a pair of jeans and a bra. A shirt lay on the bed. She’d been taken by surprise while dressing. Bloody gashes covered her back, most shallow, meant to frighten, not kill, then deeper ones. Bloody impressions on either side of the body showed where knees had been. The killer had straddled her body. No defensive wounds. She’d tried to run.

The diamond engagement ring on her finger must’ve cost a small fortune, but the perp hadn’t been interested in valuables. The traveler-possessed roommate had been after the kill.

Morrisey performed his dance, evaluating the room in a grid pattern, studying the victims dispassionately, the twitch in his jaw the only sign of the scene affecting him.

He drew, rendering the precise location of each piece of evidence, even without cards laid out by forensics. His sketch might be hasty, but it captured details a camera might not. He circled items, adding notes.

He stopped after ten minutes, dropping his gaze to Farren’s. “Oh, shit. I should’ve asked as soon as we got here. Can you do your thing?”

“I’ll try, though they’ve been dead for at least a few hours. Watch the door.”

While Morrisey watched from the door, Farren lay beside the nurse, removed a glove, and placed his bare wrist against hers. Pain. Confusion.

Hunger.

Craving. The nurse came back for the oxycodone hidden under her bed. The occisor didn’t know how to handle withdrawals. In its weakened state, the creature hadn’t fully taken over the nurse’s body, though it appeared to have called the shots—and determined to never let itself grow so weak again.

Four roommates. Three dead. One missing. The nurse killed one of the roommates slowly, meticulously, and painfully. Farren yanked himself free before experiencing more of the depravity as he had at the hospital, bearing witness to another’s pain.

In the nurse’s case, she hadn’t merely watched—she’d taken part, albeit against her will.

And to her great horror. She hadn’t been killed outright, but forced to share her body on some level, a silent observer. Which might’ve been worse.

Morrisey helped Farren up. “It’s freaky as hell to watch you stop breathing.”

“You have no idea.” Nightmares would plague Farren tonight. The nurse had loved her friends like family, watching without being able to help as the entity inside her ripped them apart, stabbed them, gouged them with the corkscrew, and hacked them with the knife.

While the roommates died by traveler, the nurse died of an overdose once the entity took the body of the final roommate and fled, leaving Veronica Henry to handle the aftermath.

The traveler had eaten well enough to stay hidden for a while before needing to feed again and could be long gone before Farren could find them. Yet, they’d left their signature in the nurse’s mind. Farren would know the murderer if they met again.

He already had a picture of the roommate.

Farren made his way to the door, intent on learning all available information about the missing roommate and handing the scene over to Atlanta PD for processing, when he caught movement in his periphery.

Morrisey casually kneeled, exposed his wrist, and placed bare skin against the only clean spot on the second victim’s arm. He closed his eyes, shuddered, then reopened them.

Farren busied himself, pretending he hadn’t noticed. What had Morrisey done? He hadn’t entered the woman—humans couldn’t. But he had done… something.

Morrisey remained silent while returning to the compound, focusing on adding more details to his sketches.

And looking pale.