That was the last thing he remembered. He’d woken up two days later in the hospital with Amber, and her mother, Cookie, by his side. They’d flown up from Santa Fe, and he remembered how he thought she’d looked like a fairy princess from one of his video games.
At first, Quentin didn’t think much about the event, other than to stay the fuck out of the basement. But the more time went on, the more he felt the entity inside him. A wiggling here. A settling there. Because of his abilities, he’d been possessed before. He did not like it. Turned out, Rune was different. An orphan in hiding, much like himself. He needed Quentin as much as Quentin unwittingly needed him.
On the bright side, Quentin had aced his history final. Rune had lived through it all.
That was about the time the Vatican came knocking. One day, he was home from school making love—at last—to the girl he’d loved for years. And the next, he was whisked off to Italy to begin training. It was the part of him he didn’t recognize that’d made him accept the Vatican’s offer. The violent part. The part he chose to block from his mind, unsure if it was the demon inside him or the darkness that had always lurked beneath the surface that made him hurt her.
“Stop thinking about her already. We’re hungry.”
Quentin ground his teeth, got out of the truck, and walked to a coffee shop near the house he was there to scope out. A house that had a shop in the front part. A house that also had two police units parked in front, lights still blazing, and had been cordoned off with police tape. Cordoned. Another word he’d only recently learned. He liked that one for some reason.
“The latest victim died only a few hours ago,” Quentin said to Rune.
“Yes. We hope we haven’t missed him again.”
“Me, too.”
The fact that the demon spoke better English than Quentin did irked, even after all these years. Of course, he’d been alive a lot longer than Quentin had.
It was still early, and he had his choice of tables when he stepped inside the small establishment—not that there were many. He stood eyeing a high-top near the front window where he could study the house. A forensics team was packing up. He would kill to get his hands on their report. Not that it mattered how the woman, a Dora Rodriguez according to a news report, had died.
Someone spoke to him from a short distance away. A woman. “Welcome to Java Junction.”
He turned, and a redhead in her early thirties stood behind the counter, her brows raised in question. He stepped up to the counter and ordered an Americana.
“Room for cream?”
Even though he could hear her—in a way—he watched her mouth for backup. He shook his head. He’d gotten used to Italian coffee the consistency of motor oil. This would be nothing in comparison.
She punched a couple of buttons on the register. He liked the sound it made. The first time he’d realized that registers made a sound, he’d been so intrigued, the kid behind the counter had to tell him three times how much he owed.
“Are you shopping today?” she asked.
He shook his head again. “Looking into the deaths,” he said.
“Are you Deaf?” she asked, in both English and ASL.
He cringed that she’d picked up on that fact so quickly and sagged in relief at seeing his native language. It was like dying of thirst and finding an oasis in the desert. “Yes,” he both signed and said, making sure his voice was almost too soft for the woman to hear. “But I hear a little.”
It was a lie. He didn’t hear at all. What residual hearing he did have was about as useful as a sledgehammer at a tea party. Rune heard. The demon inside him. And through him, through the parasite who’d taken up residence inside his body, he could hear, as well.
He talked a little, too, though he tried to wiggle out of it every chance he got. Even though he could now speak reasonably well, he could also hear his voice. Again, through Rune, but he could hear it enough to know that it didn’t sound quite right. It was too deep, maybe. And he didn’t pronounce words correctly. He often missed the S sound at the end of plurals, never quite mastered the hard G, and don’t even get him started on the R.
His relationship with Rune was an equally beneficial one. Quentin gave Rune sustenance and safe harbor. Rune gave Quentin the ability to hear and see at great distances. And they both had a profoundly honed sixth sense. They could both feel when a supernatural entity was nearby, which was how Quentin knew they hadn’t missed the demon. Not yet.
“And you’re here about the deaths?” the barista asked him before tugging her apron down to expose her cleavage.
He nodded. “I am. Anything you can tell me?”
“Are you an investigator of some kind? I mean, you don’t look like a cop.”
“I’m not a cop. I was hired by the family member of one of the victims.” He’d told the lie so many times, he almost believed it.
“Really?” She leaned over the counter. “Which one?” Her signing wasn’t bad. A little elementary, but he was impressed that she even tried. So few did.
“Sorry, that’s confidential.”
“Oh, of course.” She turned to the side and looked out the window. “Three deaths in three days. That just doesn’t happen here, you know?”
He could no longer see her mouth well, and discomfort prickled along his spine. Even with Rune’s hearing, and her attempt at signing, he would rather see her face.
“Do you know how they were connected?”
She turned back to him, and he relaxed. “They weren’t related, if that’s what you mean. Mrs. Rodriguez had lived here forever. She drove a school bus. Even though they think she may have had a heart attack before she fell down the stairs, there was definitely something suspicious about her death.”
“How do you know?”
She spread her hands before answering. “The cops have to get coffee somewhere, and we’re the only coffee joint in town.”
Joint. She said “joint” and did the sign for smoking pot. He laughed softly. “And the other two?”
“I know, right? Billy Tibbets was a glassblower. The only one in town. Took after his dad. So, he died first.” She ticked the deaths off on her fingers. “His car shifted out of park while he was checking his mail.” She shivered. “The second one, Angela Morrisey, was electrocuted in her bathtub when her space heater fell in.” She eased closer. “What the hell? I mean, these houses are old, but damn. That is so against code, right?”
“It is.” And no one in their right mind would prop a space heater over their tub.
“Exactly,” Rune said. “But why these three people?” Fortunately, no one but Quentin could hear the creature.
“That’s what we need to find out,” Quentin replied.
When Rune first began speaking to him, Quentin worried that everyone would be able to hear him. They could not. Then he worried he was crazy. What was that saying? The jury is still out?
“Well, I’m Sarah,” the woman said, giving him her sign name, an S on her right cheek. She held out her hand.
Quentin took it for a quick shake. “I’m Quentin.” He didn’t offer his sign name. It wasn’t normally done in his culture until you got to know a person better. An amateur mistake, but he still appreciated the effort.