Chapter Eight

Going to a bar while under investigation for shooting a suspect—and while headquarters debated his future—might not have been the smartest move, but was far from the worst decision Morrisey’s pickled brain ever spat out. Damned if he didn’t need something besides four walls to look at and his troubled thoughts for company.

How wrong was life when even you chose not to hang out with you?

He’d picked a new place, one where hopefully few knew him. It wouldn’t do for him to suddenly see a coworker or acquaintance morph into a weird beast.

If hints of another face suddenly superimposed itself over someone’s, whatthehellever. However, if Morrisey already saw weird shit when he hadn’t yet finished his first beer, it’d be hard to tell when he truly got drunk.

A stylish woman in a form-fitting silky green dress placed a beringed hand on the neighboring barstool. He’d never seen a neckline plunge quite so low. How did her ample breasts keep from spilling out?

Had to be duct tape.

“Mind if I join you?”

Morrisey glanced upward at chestnut waves streaked with hints of gold and copper, bright green eyes, and flawless makeup. Not the type of woman who typically approached a grizzled old waste of skin. Besides, she couldn’t have been more than early twenties, tops.

How depressing when the only woman to approach Morrisey in ages could’ve been his daughter. Wait. “You don’t know me, do you?” Back in his youth, Morrisey had experimented with a few women, even if no offspring of his could outrun his less-than-attractive genetics.

“Not yet.” The woman presented him with a dazzling, come-hither smile. “But I hope to.”

Ah. Her angle made an appearance. “As lovely as you are, I’m not your target audience.”

The woman’s smile widened at the compliment. “Why thank you, but I’m quite capable of determining your lack of, shall we say, interest.”

Were his fuck-off vibes showing? Morrisey took another swig of beer. He definitely should have ordered a more potent drink. “Then why waste time on me?”

”Oh, it”s not a waste, I promise you.” She leaned in closer. “You’re exactly who I’m looking for.” For a moment, another shimmering face showed over hers, and a flicker of smoke, like dark wings, shadowed her back. That didn’t take long. “Mr. James. May I call you Morrisey?”

Morrisey lurched backward, nearly toppling off his stool, barely saving his beer from spilling. So, the devil had finally come for him. And no crosses or holy water. “Who the fuck are you?”

The woman’s smile fell into a far-too-serious-for-one-so-young frown, full red lips forming a hard line. “ is… complicated.”

Morrisey looked right and left. Folks carried on around them, completely unaware of the peculiar conversation taking place a couple of steps away. Then again, others’ conversations and the formerly pounding music sounded muted. Okay, first thing tomorrow, Morrisey would check himself in somewhere.

The woman rested her hand on his arm. “You’re a police officer, correct?”

“Detective.” Morrisey dropped what he called his wall, letting in impressions to say what her words left out. Desperation, fear, and, deeper still, hunger. Well, anyone so thin likely missed a few meals.

“I’m not familiar with the distinctions between officer ranks, but Piper says you’re who I want.”

Morrisey gave the raised-eyebrow glare known to back off most of the force—he’d practiced Gaskins’s scowl in the mirror. At least the woman didn’t have horns or a tail—yet. “Who the hell is Piper?”

This time, the woman’s smile turned bittersweet. She moved her hand before Morrisey determined the emotional shift. “Again, it’s complicated.”

“Try me.” Not that Morrisey’s state of mind made working out even simple tasks easy, let alone complicated ones. “I eat complicated for breakfast.”

The woman flashed a toothy grin. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls. Allow me to introduce myself. You may call me Jessalain. Jessa, or Jess, since humans tend to give their kids names, then call them by a nickname. Never quite made sense to me. If you name them right, one will do.”

“Humans?”

A hint of blush colored the wo… Jessa’s cheek. “Piper is my host.”

Why should Morrisey care who Jessa lived with? “Cut the crap. What do you want with me? You might as well scamper off on your four-inch stilettos now if it”s anything out of my billfold.”

Jessa’s laugh tinkled like chimes. ”Oh, I”m definitely going to like you, Detective James.”

The chimes changed to alarm bells in Morrisey’s mind. He gave Jessa his best intimidating side-eye. “How do you know who I am?”

“Word gets around. Aren’t you the officer who shot the dem… man in the alley two blocks from here?”

Had Morrisey actually wandered so close without realizing? As if drawn. No. Just… no. “What if I am?” What did this woman honestly want? Morrisey slipped a hand under his jacket. Damn! He hadn’t gone to the precinct to retrieve Agnes yet—if they let him have her back. More than likely, they’d issue him a new gun. What number Agnes did this make? Six? Seven? Eight? .

The prospect of seeing that spot at the curb and not seeing Will kept Morrisey at home.

Maybe he should start carrying his personal gun.

Jessa leaned with her forearms against the bar. “I assure you, I’m not a threat. In fact, I’m here to help.”

Morrisey recited the same spiel he’d given many times. “If you need a cop, stop by the precinct or call 9-1-1. I’m off duty.” This woman didn’t need to know about his administrative leave pending investigation.

Jessa twisted her beautiful face in disgust. “They wouldn’t understand.”

“And I would?” Tonight, Morrisey’s mission was to render himself unable to understand anything.

“You will.” She took a sip from a wine glass he swore wasn’t there a moment ago.

“Stop talking crap, or I’m out of here.” Morrisey tossed a twenty onto the bar. Chances were, she’d charged her drink to him. He rose to leave.

Once more, Jessa placed her slender fingers on his arm. A tiny spark flared between them, but not sexual. The desperation he’d felt earlier now laced her tone, cracking open her confident act. She squinted her eyes shut. “My apologies. It’s not my nature to speak plainly. I’m trying. Piper is helping.”

Again, with Piper. Jessa’s lover, maybe? “I only understand plain, so try harder.”

Jessa opened her eyes but kept her gaze cast downward. “My circle of friends is quite limited. I’ve never had any until I arrived here. One by one, they’re going missing or being found dead. I need your help to find out what’s happening to them.”

Morrisey hadn’t handled missing person cases in years—not until the missing turned up dead. “Lady, again, contact the precinct or hire a private investigator to report a missing person.”

Jessa squeezed Morrisey’s arm ever so slightly. Her desperation rose to sheer panic. ”I don’t know who I can trust or who”ll even believe me, but after what happened the other day, you”re starting to understand. And if you must know, I have doubts about your kind, but to put it bluntly, you’re my only hope.”

“Say what now?”

Jessa rolled her eyes. “You’re my last resort.”

Morrisey had become quite accustomed to being someone’s last resort, but mostly on hookup apps. ”What are you implying with ”my kind”? Cop? Man? Gay?” He arched a brow. He wouldn’t waste time on haters. He got enough prejudice on the job.

The intensity of Jessa’s crystal green gaze nearly caused Morrisey’s heartbeat to stutter. Something old stared out of those young eyes. What the fuck? He shook his head to clear the nonsense. Nope, still there. Leaving this place sprang to the top of his priorities. “Are you a cop-hater, man-hater, or homophobe?”

“I am none of those things. You’re obviously not ready yet, but you will be.” Jessa removed her hand, taking the swirl of conflicting emotions away.

Morrisey seized her wrist. “What exactly did you mean, ‘my kind?’”

Jessa gave a harsh exhale. “I meant human. Oh, and I wouldn’t tell anyone about our little encounter. They wouldn’t believe you anyway, and you’ve just stumbled into an entire world you don’t understand.” She cupped his cheek in her hand, leaning in to whisper, “You’d be such a delicious meal if you were my type.”

Wait! Did she just lick his cheek?

“I am what your kind call a succubus. In my past life, I provided a basic physical service to those in need. It’s possibly the reason I now can feed on the lust of others.” She ran her fingers over Morrisey’s brow in a tender gesture, lips curving upward. “You don’t know who you can trust, but please think about helping me.”

“How can I find you?” Not that Morrisey intended to so much as think of her later.

“Don’t worry. Once you’ve decided, I’ll find you.” With those words, Jessa pressed something into his hand. The mysterious woman vanished into the crowd, leaving only a trace of floral perfume even a low-rent guy like Morrisey recognized as high-end.

Morrisey slipped a folded sheet of paper inside his pocket. Time enough to read later.

Conversations seemed much louder than they had just a short while ago. He motioned the bartender over. “Did you notice a woman in a green dress sitting next to me?”

“Young? Beautiful?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

The bartender smirked. “Wishful thinking, pops. Need another drink? Or maybe you’ve had enough.”

The bartender made a good point. Yet, a wineglass sat on the bar with a lipstick print to match Jessa’s full lips.

Either Morrisey needed another drink, or he’d had too much already. Especially as the double-face thing happened with the bartender. “Nah, I’m good.” He staggered outside, briefly contemplating picking a fight with the bouncer simply for a bit of normalcy.

Instead, he called an Uber.

He lost the battle not to stare into the rearview mirror at his ride-share driver’s ever-changing face.

Or his tail, which stuck up over the front seat like a periscope.

Tail?

Oh, hell. Why the fuck not?

Morrisey had failed at many things in his life. He’d failed to win an art scholarship. He’d failed to get into the college of his choice. He’d failed at selling real estate before becoming a cop. He’d failed at his relationship with Craig. But things hit an all-time low when he even failed at bad decisions and came home sober. Maybe he”d best back off, considering the last few days.

Especially since the only booze left in the apartment was Craig’s vodka. Better to be sober than crack the seals of those bottles or the associated memories.

He removed the slip of paper from his pocket—a list of names labeled missing or deceased and a date for each. If he couldn’t get drunk, he might as well put the time to use and prove the bullshit of the woman’s story, if nothing else.

Or was she a serial killer intent on confessing?

Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to ever happen. He sat in the living room with his laptop and Jessa’s list, keying in name after name. Some of the dead appeared to have died peacefully. The others? Not so much. Brutalized, viciously stabbed, or beaten. Not an easy way to die. Still others on the list were missing.

A niggling suspicion crept through Morrisey’s insides. Had Jessa actually committed these crimes herself? Based on all her ”host” talk, she may not be what Gaskins called a reliable witness.

All the deaths happened within two months. Had the thing that tried to enter him, or something similar, done this? The headache, the Let me in!

Shivers of unease slithered up Morrisey’s spine, joining the squirming in his belly. All the dead were adult entertainers or sex workers whose professions kept them surrounded by lust. Were they all what Jessa said? Succubusses? Succubi? No. Those didn’t exist. Did they? What about the male versions?

There had been no follow-up reports filed on the missing from her list. They’d been marginalized people living in poor neighborhoods. Morrisey always hated the inequality of the world. If a wealthy man in a mansion was murdered, his death likely wouldn’t wind up in the cold case files. While the only dead woman on the list from his precinct appeared to have died of natural causes, he had never heard of the DOAs from other precincts.

All young, all good-looking, just beginning their lives.

Cut short.

Will would have argued for helping anyone in need. Damn. Why couldn’t death have taken Morrisey, a poor excuse for a man, leaving Will, the better man, alive?

Morrisey dozed off on the couch amid names, dates, and speculation.

Women and men filled his living room, most he’d seen in pictures—Jessa’s friends. Helena stood in the corner, Johnny by her side. “Help us,” she said. “No one else can.”

Morrisey lay paralyzed, powerless to do anything.

“You need to help them,” Craig said, sinking to the floor beside Morrisey’s head, perfect and whole again.

“Craig!” Morrisey tried to sit up and take Craig into his arms. As he watched, unable to move, bruises appeared on Craig’s face. Blood dripped from his nose.

“No!” The more Morrisey struggled, the more he panicked, the more he couldn’t move.

The landline rang.

Will answered.