Dance in Shadow and Whisper (Marionettes of Myth #1)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The wind was dead.

The torrential downpour of rain was nothing less than biblical. The earth became oversaturated and the streets turned to rivers, and the nearby artery of the Monongahela swelled with too much blood. The city of Pittsburgh, with its crown of mute thunder clouds, would soon bleed out.

A quiet sigh left his nose as he studied the corpse with the hole in her heart. The rapid downpour struck his umbrella and formed a waterfall all around him, splattering his oxfords and his trousers and the roof of the storage warehouse. She had long since soaked through, her blood diluted by the rain, all evidence of the murder washed away into the clogged gutters. Perhaps it was just as well.

The shadows shivered as one of his scouts materialized.

"We've checked the perimeter, sir. There's nothing to be found within five miles. Would you like us to check farther?"

He considered the offer, his jade eyes peering out across the sheet of rain. There wasn't much to see other than more rain, but he already sensed someone else closing in. "That won't be necessary. I suspect it's far too late by now. Write up a report and send it to Renatus." They would have to word their language with godly perfection. The human government didn't have much of a taste for murder mysteries in the vampire realm.

"Yes, sir. Is that all, sir?"

"A dear friend is on his way. Would you expedite his arrival? I'd rather finish this up before I discover whether or not I have the capacity to swim."

"Yes, sir."

The scout vanished. It only took a matter of drenching moments before the shadows unraveled Mazin and his fellow assistants.

The head demon lord needed only to absorb the sight of the body before he looked away with a grim frown. The man was getting old. The past hundred years of balancing Cassius and his people had sucked the life out of him and painted his hair in highlights of silver. He wore it well, at the very least.

Mazin took the umbrella from his assistant's hand with a 'Thank you' and a 'Go make certain they're wording the report correctly.' When Mazin joined his side, they were two black umbrellas in a world of gray and dead air.

"Aemilius," he greeted with all the excitement petrifaction allowed. "I assume all evidence of what happened here was washed away."

"Of course. If only matters could be so simple." When Mazin collected himself into his own silent contemplation, Aemilius allowed him a moment before he added, "But you know very well what came about here."

He didn't want to know, of course. It was simpler to pretend that the worst hadn't happened, but if either of them could possibly know, it would have been Mazin. His demon sixth sense was no secret, and it knew the answer.

His sense knew the exact answer.

Aemilius looked sideways at him. "How many died here, Mazin?"

He shook his head. He couldn't bring himself to answer. It hurt him, carved wrinkles across his face, deepened the frown that gave him away. Denial was a dangerous stage to enter. "It doesn't make sense."

"You'd rather it not make sense."

"There's no sign of her, is there? I trust you've already had this area searched, but there's no possibility of—"