"There's someone home," I said, looking towards the grey-bricked end of the terrace—the road loops in a 'U' with a small alleyway dividing the next row.
"How do you know? Can you hear their heartbeats?" said Michael, raising his eyebrows. He's still not used to what I can do, even if that wasn't the case this time.
"No, you idiot, I just saw someone move by the upstairs window," I said, smirking. The look on his face was priceless; I had to fight back the urge to laugh and remain focused. I've relied on my heightened auditory senses lately, but I'm not a show pony.
It's Miss Walker; I felt more relaxed after seeing her. Maybe there's hope for me yet. As for the quaint-looking house, we'd spent the last ten minutes observing. No one came or went, and the shadowed figure looked slouched, the posture of an elderly person. It made me think of Mildred; at least this one was alive.
I don't know what's going on or if it had anything to do with the blood moon, but I didn't need spontaneity with us in daylight. What I wasn't telling Michael, either, was that since this morning and my dream. My abilities were all over the place. My claws were alternating in coming out without my control. Same as the fangs.
Imagine talking to frail old Mrs Sexton; she's regaling us on the latest sweater she's knitted in time for Christmas, and I 'wolf out.' She'd have a fucking heart attack. Her chair collapses, her head flips forward, and her eye is buried in her needle. I know that's kicked up, but the image popped into my head.
I would rather give it a miss; there have been far too many dead bodies in this case and. I wondered if the demon had continued jumping bodies or was still with 'Jack'. What if it jumps in someone I know? I'm yet to figure out how to face it when the moment comes; I would need to keep clear of its toxins, which is easier said than done.
The book page from the museum mentions that the Kanaima demon is weakest when it's torn between being human and the demon. What if it possesses Jack Sexton? We could use Emily Fulton against the human element. But we'd have to make sure she didn't see it coming. Otherwise, the demon will know.
"Is it him or her?" said Michael, straining his eyes before putting his specs on to look.
"If I were to guess, a 'her', but you know I don't bet," I said, trying to hear and coming and going like a radio signal.
"What's going on, matey? You seem different today," he said with a curious head tilt, expecting me to open up and tell all. I had yet to broach my dream.
"Maybe that has something to do with all my senses and off abilities going wonky on me," I said, stretching my neck to look at the ceiling, seeking the heavens and clearing the knot in my neck. My body had ached since waking from the dream.
There were no signs of blood outside my home or on the path to the cars. Meaning I'd gone further afield without realising it; I only hope the calls don't start coming. I'm used to being the centre of attention, but we already had one unbelievable beast on the loose. We didn't need the whispers of another. I figured I should loop in Michael on everything. There's no telling how tonight will go; I'm already feeling rabid.
"Eh? What does that mean? You can't control it?" he said, with a slight look of fear I wasn't used to seeing. I should have expected it eventually, but in my life, I've been a nobody, a loner, happy to stay under the radar. College was the only time I peeked out of the shadows; that was to impress Helen. In English literature, we had to recite book chapters in rotation. When it came to me, I could tell it, damn near word for word, without looking. Much to cheers and a beaming smile. Her gratification was enough for me.
Some terrible people who can do bad things and have painted a target on both my backs. I needed to find out who had my blood and if it could make others like me.
"Last night, I had another nightmare; most of it was a replay of the first crime scene, only I was pinned to the roof—the other me. I had a conflict with myself. Only the one to the ceiling seemed to have changed. Then I woke covered in blood, coughing up hair or fur," I said with a heavy sigh; each time I over-share, the words that fall out of my mouth get weirder.
"Well, I figured something was bound to start at some point today, so fate that I came earlier for more than one reason. I wanted to watch after your phone call; how do you feel in your head? Any change? Temper or anything?" he said, sounding like he was covering all bases.
"My head is fine, just the dreams and not knowing when changes will happen. It's Miss Walker, though; she's under my skin," I said, feeling a little light-headed.
To say it aloud had my pulse thumping between my ears; admitting to someone else that Miss Walker had me on the hook felt surreal. I look down at a familiar sound. My claws were to attention, all because we were talking about her.
"See," I said, showing them to Michael. "We say one thing about her and look," I said, waving them in his face.
"See, I bloody told you. Besides, I saw the way she wanted to jump your bones. I didn't need any special hearing or eyes to tell that. Look, give yourself a break; it's due. If anything good has to come of our recent cluster fuck, it may as well be you getting your leg over," he said, being a cheeky sod while relaxing in his face. He had a point, so why did it feel like I was betraying Helen?
"I'm not a dirty dog like you, or as Miss Walker put it, old dog. Get this demon bollocks under control. See how I am and decide whether it's wise to pursue. I guess I'm scared. What version of me sees the light of day on the other side of the moon?" I said pensively. My head leaned against the window and looked at the house. Peaceful makes it hard to imagine the mother of a potentially possessed serial killer lives.
"Right, you got your game face on?" he said, twitching his wrinkles in my direction.
"What, this one?" I said playfully, shifting a little and displaying my werewolf's face.
"Oh fuck off, see, you can do it now, you little shit," he said jokingly, before switching the ignition off.
Clearing the air helped a little; how long it lasts is anyone's guess. Hopefully, sharing the stress means I don't change at an inappropriate time.
"Right, let me do the talking, and you be on guard with your shit magnet radar," he said; I couldn't help but chuckle; I don't know why, but for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel all about doom and gloom.
"Sure thing, boss," I said, taking the piss before meeting the fresh air.
Low white panelled fencing with neat hedges around the edge. A flagstone pathway to an open porch with four white support pillars and a glossy black front door. The place looked nice, well looked after, and not the kind I could see involved in trouble.
'Knock knock knock,'
***
This would not be an easy conversation. Michael rapped against the door; I listened for footsteps, thankfully able to pick up on heartbeats. Only one was inside; a woman huffed her way to the front door, 'who the bloody hell is it this time,' I hear.
Credentials at the ready, the front door swung open with abrupt haste about it. There was a strange smell from inside besides the slow simmering beef stew: 'Toxins' and that dust. That's what I picked up on; they'd been here. The question is if the mother knew.
An older lady in her mid-sixties, with short curled grey hair and brown glasses shielding her brown eyes. Her face was thin and cold-looking; her heart jumped as we showed out badges. Michael introduced us, but I got distracted. My hackles ruffled, and a tingle rippled through the tiny hairs on my neck. Somebody was watching. I couldn't get a read on who, what or how far. I spin on the spot, getting Michaels's attention and getting a screwed-up face.
"What now?" she snapped, getting my attention back.
"Mrs Sexton?" Said Michael, being polite and almost well-spoken. I say almost because there's no hiding that East London twang.
"Yeah, look, I've said all I need. I'm going to?" she said. Michael and I looked at each other, bemused and curious. Our warrant cats were clear as day.
"Sorry, but who do you think we are?" I said, listening closely to her heart, listening for the thinking pause.
"I might get old; I'm not blind. You're police detectives," she said, making the situation even more strange.
"Has somebody else been here?"
"Yeah, a few of you are a lot in flashy suits."
"When? And what did they say?"
"Yesterday. They were after my Jack, and I will tell you what I told them. He's not here, hasn't been for a few days," she said. Her beat didn't waver; her vocals were steady and deliberate. Mrs Sexton seemed to tell the truth; then again, I thought of Mr Kumar. Even with these heightened abilities, I can still be thrown into a curve ball.
"They identified as police?" I said, thinking back to the wild shooting around Kumar; what if there was more to them?
"They flashed something; I was busy and didn't think. Now I think back, it seemed an odd pairing; one looked Egyptian, and the weird scarf didn't go with the suit," she said; my radar was going off, other than feeling we were being watched. There was another party involved, for sure. The 'Egyptian' angle made me think they could be linked to the recent relics.
"Did they ask anything else?" I said, butting in as Michael went to speak, causing him to give me the 'what the hell' raised eyebrows. In return, I gave a wry, apologetic smile.
"Only if he brought any boxes home, said it's stolen property. My Jack would never have been into that. Especially as he's a teacher," she said. Michael and I twitched in unison; this time, I thought it was only fair to let him talk. Saves the lectures after.
"A teacher? Where?"
"Erm, some secondary school teaching the youngers history or something, only part-time but needs must. Especially as his wife has left him high and dry, cleared out, taking everything."
She said, her eyes darting to the left. Mrs Sexton tried hard to recall while I was distracted and not by anything inside.
I was now picking up on two heartbeats to go with the feeling we were being watched. Their scent rushed toward the chilly breeze. It's what I smelt earlier. Michael kept looking at me out of the corner of his eye while trying to appease Mrs Sexton. My hamster wheel turned slowly, identifying what I was picking up on. Death and sulphur, albeit a thinly veiled attempt to conceal by a scented deodorant. Almost unreal if I were to muse out aloud, but it was...
This can't be the Kanaima; that much I could figure, but who?
Michael's face twisted with growing unease. The scent of death and sulphur lingered in the air, a sinister presence, like a lurking malevolence from the abyss. It was distant, at least two hundred feet away, yet its foulness reached out, a harbinger of something wicked.
"Thanks for your time, Miss Sexton," I muttered, tugging on Michael's thick coat, urging us away from her doorstep. Panic clawed at me as I frantically searched for the stink. Michael's eyes mirrored my anxiety, even though he had no clue of the supernatural forces at play.
"What's the rush?" Michael asked, his voice trembling. His gaze darted to the surrounding darkness, where shadows seemed to converge.
As we neared another row of houses across from Mrs Sexton's, I noticed an alleyway between the buildings three-quarters of the way down the path. It was an eerie discovery, with different lampposts casting a feeble light and a dilapidated metal fence set back a few feet. It was as though the alley beckoned us into the unknown.
"While you were talking," I said in hushed tones, "I picked up a scent, and you won't like it." Michael's face contorted with dread as he glanced at me.
"Not more bloody blood," he exclaimed, reaching for his cigarette box only to find it empty, worsening his mood.
"No, not this time. Equally strange... sulphur and death," I whispered, my voice quivering with trepidation. Michael stopped in his tracks, his breath forming frosty clouds in the chill.
"How? Sulphur? Gunfire and a dead body?" Michael tried to rationalise the inexplicable, but he knew deep down that this was beyond human understanding.
"I don't think so," I replied, my senses sharpening. "I felt we were being watched; the smell appeared simultaneously with the presence of two heartbeats."
"What are the odds it's the two that visited Sexton previously? Watching in case he comes back?" Michael's voice trembled, mirroring my unease.
"Michael, grab the car," I implored. "We might need you to cut them off if they run."
Without hesitation, Michael dashed for the car, his footsteps echoing in the lonely street. Adrenaline surged through my veins, and I could feel the primal nature within me stirring. A part of me wanted to chase someone, to see how fast I could go, but I suppressed the urge.
As we approached a flaked silver lamppost, I caught sight of two men. One bore an Egyptian appearance, resembling the description given by Mrs Sexton. The other was a white male in his late thirties. They wore black coats and blue jeans. The Egyptian man had a navy tasselled scarf and black heavy-duty boots reminiscent of military or SWAT gear. The other sported a black goatee and white Converse sneakers.
My heart raced as I displayed my warrant card. "Police, you two got a minute?" I asked, my voice quivering.
What happened next sent a chill down my spine. Both men smiled, but their smiles held no warmth, only an air of evil confidence. The wind whistled through the alley, showering me with their putrid scent, overpowering and sickly sweet. It was then that the horrifying truth dawned on me—these were not human. Both men spun on their heels and ran, their movements unnaturally swift.
"DC Reynolds chasing suspects," I announced over the radio, "an alleyway off Cartwright Street. An IC4 male, 6-foot, wearing a black jacket, blue jeans, black boots, and a navy scarf. An IC1 male, black jacket, blue jeans, white Converse, and a black goatee. They're heading toward Turnbull Avenue."
The response crackled over the radio. "Received by Hotel Tango. Any units to assist near Turnbull Avenue?"
"DS Dalton, unmarked unit H.T. 17," a voice responded, "already heading that way; my colleague is chasing. Believe linked to our inquiries at 89 Cartwright."
As the pursuit continued, our speed was matched by the supernatural beings. My senses were alive and electric, my consciousness warring with a primal desire to hunt. I struggled to control the impulse to give in to my more savage instincts, to tear them apart and taste their blood.
Expressions of the supernatural beings changed as they found another gear, their eyes briefly flashing green, like the description of a Kanaima, a mythical creature of malice. A sudden realisation washed over them, and one muttered, "We have to go; he's not normal either."
Fighting back the urges and dark thoughts, I focused on the chase. "We're near an iron bridge heading over the railway," I reported, the desperation clear in my voice.
But just as we approached the steps to the bridge, the supernatural beings vanished in clouds of black smoke, leaving me in disbelief and terror. Instead of ascending the steps, I collided with the railings, crashing to the ground, my face narrowly avoiding a filthy puddle of unknown liquid and discarded beer cans.
"Hotel Tango suspects lost," I said into the radio, my voice laden with frustration, "last seen over a fence by the train tracks. Despatch, contact TfL, please."
I sat amidst the dirt, a dismal failure. Michael screeched back to my side, white clouds forming with every hurried breath. His eyes held concern and confusion.
"What manner of case are we dealing with, matey?" Michael asked, his voice wavering.
"I think... I think they're demons," I confessed, my words heavy with dread and fear.
The night had turned sinister, plunging us into a supernatural horror beyond our wildest nightmares.