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TRANSCRIPT
The Consultant
A Greystone Tale
Lou Paduano
Eleven Ten Publishing
BUFFALO, NEW YORK
Copyright © 2016 by Lou PaduanoAll rights reserved. This book or any portionthereof may not be reproduced or used in anymanner whatsoever without the express writtenpermission of the publisher except for the use ofbrief quotations in a book review. Eleven Ten PublishingP.O. Box 1914Buffalo, NY 14226 Publisher’s note: This is a work of fiction.Names, characters, places, and incidents eitherare the product of the author’s imagination orare used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actualevents, locales, or persons, living or dead, isentirely coincidental. Edited, formatted, and interior design byKristen Corrects, Inc.Cover art design by Kit Foster Design
First edition published 2016
Other Books by Lou Paduano
Signs of Portents
Tales from Portents (February 2017)
The Medusa Coin (September 2017)
Table of Contents
Chapter OneChapter Two
Chapter ThreeChapter FourChapter FiveChapter Six
Chapter SevenChapter Eight
Chapter One
Seth Groves didn’t move fastenough. Carrying two large, black trashbags—the collective crap from an entireweek in his two-bedroom apartment—Seth failed to close the gap before themetal door to the complex firmly slappedhim along the backside. The bagsdropped and with them every curse in theforty-three-year-old’s vocabulary.
Taking a deep breath, theoverweight and overtired manager of aless-than-lucrative electronics storestruggled to gather his belongings. Hethrew a deep glare at the heavy door, stillleaning against his ass, pushing himdeeper into the wet blanket that wasPortents.
To say it was raining would havebeen an overstatement. It came in littlespecks, practically spitting from theheavens upon the street. The storm cameunexpectedly and the fact that it had
remained consistent for three straightdays kept the city locked in a cloudygloom of gray.
“Now why would the trash betaken out before I got home?” Sethmuttered. Twelve-hour shifts devouredhis week, while his wife devoured whatlittle remained in their budget. Therewere mounting bills, growing debts, and arash that refused to abate on the man’schest. Not that he was one to complain.Complaints came at him. Fromemployees. From his darling wife of
twenty years—married much too young.No, Seth left the complaints to others.Except when alone.
“It’s not like I work all day, everyday,” Seth continued, shambling down thewide alley dividing the four buildings inthe complex. He ducked beneath thewindow leading to his kitchen, noticingthe wide shadow of the woman he hadwed. His grumbling quieted as hequickened his step toward the waitingdumpsters.
“Always plenty of time for me to
do this,” he said, rain pelting his eyes andthe thin strands of hair that made up hiscomb over.
The trash clanged loudly in thedumpster. His shoulder ached from thetoss. He needed more exercise. He neededto stretch more. Work less. Plenty ofthings that would never occur. Not whenthere was always more garbage to handle,more hours to work.
“Not like I ever have better thingsto do,” Seth grumbled, completing histask—satisfied to move away from the
stench that seemed to infect the entirealley. Not even the rain helped wash itaway. He turned back home, his stepsslowing even with the pelting rain drivinghim forward. “Better things to—”
He stopped at the sight of thebuilding across the alley. The windows layopen, the occupant within not caringabout the smell. The occupant. It was funnyto think about her that way. But thinkingabout her had become more than a hobbyfor the middle-aged man. Obsessing wasthe wrong word. It cheapened his feelings
toward her.
Twenty feet away and he had neverseen her, not in the three months sinceher arrival. Just the shadow of her againstthe curtains. An outline to be filled in bypure imagination. Except for her voice.
Her singing.
Melodic and soothing, she sangevery night, the sound drifting into hisapartment, even with the windows closed.Thin walls. Not that he minded. Thesound was blissful, drowning out theworld for the overtired man. The sound
carried him to sleep. He never sleptbetter. Even his wife felt the effects ofher voice, relaxing even in the midst of atirade about Seth’s ineffectiveness as aman and a husband.
A word of thanks was the least hecould offer for that small favor.
The open windows dared him. Aquick peek, nothing more. A quickconfirmation that the sweet voice was justa precursor to a beautiful woman withcurves he hadn’t seen in a decade. To puta face to her, one he could carry into his
nightly dreams.
Seth Groves danced, dodging thegrowing puddles in the alley. The joy ofhis mission, the fact that he hadsomething to look forward to amid thetrash, the inventory at work, the monthlybills, and everything else. To solve themystery before him snapped him fromthe gray surrounding the city. Itbrightened the darkness.
“Just walking by,” Seth muttered,calming his giddy steps. The smell grewwith each step toward her open window.
“Nothing creepy about it. A simple strollon my way—”
The wind blew the curtain awayfrom the window, allowing him to see theentire living room. Giving him a perfectview of the woman within.
And the true origin of the smelldominating the alley.
Seth Groves tried to find thewords, tried to scream at the sight of thedead woman in the apartment, brokenand twisted in ways he could neverimagine.
But he would imagine it. Splashingthrough the puddles for his home, SethGroves would imagine her broken anddecayed body for the rest of his days. Hisscreams echoed after him, his overweightframe racing home—rushing back to histired little life and his complaints.
He wondered if he would eversleep soundly again.
Chapter Two
Rain trickled along the railings ofthe fire escape. It tingled along her hands,black as the night, before pausing at thetips of her fingers in an attempt to stopfrom hitting the pavement below. Thesteady drip was background noise, filteredout by the woman lost to the shadows ofthe alley.
Soriya Greystone was working.
The placement on the fire escapejust above the first-floor apartmentperfectly shadowed from any onlooker orrandom glance, the lights minimalthroughout the alley. A pause in the rainwould have been nice. The spittingprecipitation clouded her eyes at times.
Officers worked efficiently insidethe young woman’s apartment. EurydiceBaros. Doesn’t get more Greek than that. Shenoted it on the mail near the openwindow, soaked from the exposure to therain, though no one took care to notice.
They were busy with the scene in theliving room.
The dead woman at the center of itall.
There was a time Soriya would havebeen in the room with Loren, piecingtogether the final moments of the youngwoman who had met her end so violently.Jokes and playful banter between them,for sure, but the work first.
Unfortunately, Loren was gone—the job proving too much for him,something Soriya never understood.
Would never understand. The image ofhis dead wife swallowed him up, refusingto let him move on. Until he did.
Without Loren, the police were lessthan an ally. The truth of the situation,the new reality she had found herself inover the last three months since Loren’sabrupt departure, was that the men andwomen in blue would be just as likely toarrest her rather than allow her to assistin their investigations.
Her investigations.
Eurydice Baros.
The woman, if she could even becalled that anymore, was little more thana mass of flesh and tissue, blood and guts.A mess of a corpse spread across an arearug, limbs torn and shredded by deepclaws. Blood ran the length of the rug,spreading in all directions around theroom.
Forensics worked carefully to leavethe scene undisturbed. Most kept theirgaze on the evidence and not on the body.Flashbulbs went off, capturing the end ofthe woman’s life. Most of the men and
women in the room would forego theirnext meal, probably their next few, untilthe images of Eurydice Baros faded frommemory.
There was a word bandied aboutbetween the crew in low mutters. A wordto characterize the scene. To glorify it in away, making her death more, making theirjob more.
Monstrous.
Soriya knew better. The claw marks.The rage in the kill. The destruction ofthe victim. It was more than monstrous.
More than the work of a man. In Soriya’swork, it meant the work of a true andterrible monster.
The young woman in shadowshifted her weight, quiet against the slickmetal of the fire escape, and closer to thewall of the building. Out of sight fromPortents’ head coroner Hady Ronne. Theshort, rotund woman with the stringyblack hair kept her clipboard close toreview her notes. She did not hesitate toview the body, or what remained of one.She did not blink. Did not gasp. There
were no surprises from the dead for her.
Orders flew and forensics workedquickly to execute them. It was time totransport the body. Time for Soriya tomake her move.
Deftly, she swung over the side ofthe fire escape, holding tight with herright hand to the railing to arc toward thebedroom window of the apartment. Shelanded gracefully, her sneakers silentalong the room’s carpet.
Down the hall, officers left thescene, grateful for the reprieve. Soriya
would only have minutes before theyreturned. If not them, then it would beHady Ronne’s staff, or as Loren would sayright to the coroner’s face, her pets.
Keeping an eye on the clock, thesoaked woman took in the room quickly.A single bedroom apartment meant not alot of unused space. The bed was tuckedclose to the entrance, a small desk andnightstand accompanying it. Books.Photos with friends. A journal tuckednear the pillow.
Normal.
Questions about what hadhappened in the other room permeatedher thoughts. The depravity of the act.Soriya saw no such thing. Not anymore.She had seen too many in her all-too-short twenty-two years. Seen too muchsince the loss of her former life at the ageof four. Since finding the stone at thescene of the car wreck that claimed thelives of her parents.
The Greystone.
It ushered her into a new world,with the help of her mentor. A wider
world, more open to possibilities than anycould understand. But it was a darker oneat times as well. Darker than the nightoutside. As dark as the depths of thekiller out on the streets of Portents.
Soriya grazed the journal at theedge of the bed. Her work kept thingsfrom her. The normal things of life. Thework and Mentor. Her job was focused:protect the city, keep the Bypass safe in itschamber hidden under the center ofPortents. There could be no distractions.
Sometimes she hated that.
Quickly and without a sound,Soriya skirted down the long hall for theliving room. She didn’t need much time.Just an inkling, a hint of what might berunning loose in her city. And whyEurydice Baros, tucked away in her cozylittle one-bedroom apartment, might haveearned its wrath. Even if Soriya neededmore time, she wouldn’t dare take it. Notwith Hady Ronne on sight. Somethingabout the stumpy woman with thecavernous bags under her eyes made eventhe stalwart protector of Portents uneasy.
The dead woman no longer had aface. Nothing remained of her eyes.Mutilation barely covered the viciousnessof the assault on her delicate frame.Soriya had no time for it. She surveyedthe body, trying not to look directly at thelarger picture. Only the details mattered.The cuts along the woman’s abdomenwere lost to the blood and exposedorgans. The amount of blood was toogreat to hope these cuts came after death.One thing was clear: Eurydice Barossuffered in the end.
Only one cut remained clearlydefined to Soriya. A long gash across herneck, right through her vocal cords. Theinitial strike to cut off her cries for helpamong a crowded apartment complex?Or something more personal? A sign forwhy she among all others in the city wastargeted?
The room was in disarray butnowhere near what should have been.Tables and chairs had been shifted. Thecouch was pushed back against the farwall. But there was no real damage to the
collectibles lining the bookshelves. Thedoor remained intact. A scuffmark nearthe entrance in the shape of a shoeindicated the killer’s entry into theapartment, but the lack of force usedmeant the victim allowed the killer inside.
Someone she knew? A deliveryman? A neighbor? Someone trusted?
The police would handle thesequestions among the complex. It was herjob to find out what could have done thisand why.
Steps approached, forcing Soriya to
race back down the hall for the bedroom.She snagged the journal from the cornerof the bed. She stopped short of thewindow, a sliver of light illuminating thesill.
Claw marks. Three distinct, longand thick. One barely visible in the wood.But the fifth clinched it for her.
A fingerprint.
Chatter increased. Her time was up.Leaping through the open window, Soriyacaught hold of the fire escape with herfree hand, arcing back to the second floor
landing of the fire escape above. Withoutpause, she flew up the stairs two at a timefor the rooftop.
She needed answers. Needed toknow more about Eurydice and whatcould have ended her life. Too manyquestions that kept her from noticing thelarge figure on the rooftop near thestairwell.
“Whoa,” Soriya said, sliding to ahalt before the hulking frame of a man ina blue suit jacket. “Where did you comefrom?”
He smiled, unfazed by her arrival.“Stairs. You?”
“Fire escape,” she answeredwithout thinking. She backed up to theedge of the building. “If you’ll excuse…”
The man wasn’t looking at hermovements. He was busy staring at thejournal in her hands.
“Wait,” he called, stopping her. Hereached into his pocket and pulled out hisbadge. “It looks like we’re working thesame case. Care to share notes?”
Chapter Three
The man before Soriya Greystonewas tall, blocking the light from theadjacent building and throwing her intodarkness. Yet she saw him clearly. Young—younger than she expected from hisphysicality—but refined. His suittastefully formed to his body,accentuating areas she tried to ignore, buthis grin proved otherwise.
“You’re not a cop,” Soriya said,standing away from the ledge of thebuilding. Her confidence returned withthe chill breeze of the night, driving therain against her back. A slow drizzle but aconsistent pest nonetheless.
His smile grew. “I find thatstatement amusing, coming from you. Orare you hiding your badge somewhere inthat outfit?”
She let him get a good look. Tightjeans, torn at the knees. Sneakers fadedfrom age, stained from use. A dark shirt
tucked behind a thin jacket. Her hair wascontained in a ponytail that ran down toher shoulder.
When he realized an answer wasnot forthcoming, the towering mantossed his badge to her. She caught itdeftly, moving closer to him to block therain. She eyed the badge. It did not have agold shield, as typical of the officers ofthe department. No, this one listed theman as a psychologist.
“Russell Kerr?”
“Russell is fine,” he replied.
“A shrink?”
He laughed. She handed him thebadge, which quickly made its way backinto his breast pocket. “I’ve beenconsulting on a number of cases over thelast couple months down at the CentralPrecinct. Can we get back to who youare?”
“Concerned citizen,” she answered,arms crossing her chest. The movementpulled her jacket up slightly, ruffling overher hips. And the Greystone resting onher right side.
Russell’s eyes flared at the sight ofthe stone, his lumbering frame staggeringback a step. A slight shift, a discomfort atits presence. One she noticed immediatelybut let fall away like the rain aroundthem.
“Crime scene is downstairs, Kerr.Why are you up here?”
He cleared his throat, moving forthe edge of the rooftop. He stared outover the alley below, then against theskyline of Portents in the distance.“Taking in the view.”
Soriya understood that better thanmost. She loved the view from above. Thequiet over the roar of the streets. A way tosee more clearly, a friend once said. Lorenhated the rooftops, hated heights ingeneral, due to the loss of his wife in atragic fall. Russell Kerr was muchdifferent from her old partner.
He fascinated her more than shewanted to admit.
“Sounds like slacking on the job tome,” she finally said, moving beside him.
“Yes, well….” He reached into his
left pocket and pulled out a smallsandwich bag. “I was also sneaking asnack. Long day.”
She sniffed the air. “Honey?”
“Good nose,” Russell replied,impressed.
“Donut?” she asked. “Prettycliché.”
He laughed, opening the bag. Heheld one of the small pastries out to her.“Cookie, actually. Weakness of mine, itseems.”
Soriya stopped at the admission,curious at the man’s distant stare at thesnack like a memory was running beforehis eyes. They were bonding, more thanshe had with anyone since Loren’sdeparture. It felt good. Too good.
“Listen,” she started, moving backto the fire escape. “This has been fun but—”
“There was another victim,” hecalled out without looking. He took asmall bite of the cookie and put the restaway for later, satisfaction filling his face.
“That’s why I’m here. On this case.”
“Profiling?”
“Trying to, if such a thing ispossible,” he admitted, ushering her backto the stairwell. “Your interest disturbsme, though. Most would run screamingfrom a scene so vicious.”
“I’m not most people,” she replieddefiantly, the words of a child slippingout and she regretted the tone. She was awoman, dammit. “Or so I’m told anyway.Repeatedly.”
“Touchy subject?”
Soriya turned away. “The victim?”
“A baker. Good stuff too,” Russellsaid, his hand patting his pocket and thecookie within—his eyes distant oncemore. Russell Kerr had more on his mindthan the case. Something personal.
“Another animal attack?” Soriyaasked.
“Big time,” Russell said. “Grisly,really. I’m working up a full profile for thedetective bureau and Captain Ruiz to
work from but…some things are just toostrange.”
Soriya shook her head. “Not inPortents.”
“I’d be happy to share the file withyou but I left it at the office and—”
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m not dressedfor that party.”
“No, you are not,” Russell said witha smirk. “There is something about thisvictim and—”
“Eurydice,” Soriya said over the
rain.
“I’m sorry?”
“Her name was Eurydice.”
Russell flinched. “Of course.”
“I should….”
He nodded, stepping for the door.“Be sneaky and all that. Right. Listen—”
“Here it comes,” Soriya said, headlowering.
“What?”
She turned to greet him, finger flatout in front of her. “I don’t need thewarning.”
“Oh?” Russell threw his hands up.“Oh!” He shook his head profusely. “No.I mean, I would, but I don’t see the point.You’re going looking for this guy, aren’tyou?”
“You don’t have a problem withthat?” she asked.
“I’ll be honest with you,” he said,rubbing his neck. “I’ve read some ofDetective Loren’s case files. They don’t do
you justice.”
“You’ve read…?”
“On my own time,” Russellconfessed. “Crazy crap and I don’t reallyget most of it, but the way that mandescribed you? Dead on.”
“I feel like I should take a bow.”
“I just….” He stopped. “I said Iwouldn’t but, this might be dangerous.”
She sighed. “That’s the job. Rain orshine. Murder by man or beast.”
Russell fell silent. Soriya waited forthe questions to begin. Questions aboutthe creature that may have committed theact within the apartment below. Aboutthe city and what really existed beyondwhat everyone else realized.
Curious or not about theconsultant, he wasn’t necessary to the taskat hand—a task that was slipping awaywith each moment. She had the journal.She had the faintest of leads on thecreature, having seen the transformationin the claw marks littering the windowsill.
She didn’t need anything more fromRussell Kerr.
“I have a lead.” His voicethundered over the rain.
She kept walking. “Follow it.”
“Hey,” he shouted.
She turned back, fist clenched.
“Listen. This isn’t…it’s not exactlyabove board. The journal in your hand—the baker had one as well. Same make. Ibet there’s a message inside.”
Soriya lifted the journal slowly,opening to the inside front cover. Themessage read:
A gift for the survivors.
It was signed with just a letter.
H.
“What does it mean?” she asked.
Russell shrugged. “No idea.”
“Great.”
“Wait,” Russell shouted. “I may notknow what it means but I know where
they both bought the journal.”
“Where?”
“The Maple. A shop called Locales.Know it?”
She smirked. Of course she did.
“They should have a database,something to track down who H is andwhere we can find him,” Russellcontinued.
“Bring it to Ruiz. He’ll—”
“He’s not my biggest fan and with
what I think we’ll find—”
“You think H is the next victim?”
Russell nodded. “I do.”
Soriya hesitated, letting the journalfall back to her side. “You want to use Has bait.”
“Little bit of bait,” Russellanswered, cringing at the admission.
“I can see Ruiz’s problem withthat.”
“But not yours?” he asked, a light
in his eyes. “Back me up.”
Soriya turned back to the city. Hercity. Her job.
“Three hours,” Russell said. “Bethere or don’t. I’m not letting this guy killagain.”
She gripped the journal tighter.Her lead. Her connection to Eurydice,the dead woman below. She deservedjustice. And Soriya deserved to close thiscase—without help. But the murdererwas still out there, the only true leadbrought to her by the towering shrink
behind her.
Slowly she turned, nodding. “I’ll bethere.”
Without another word she steppedover the ledge of the building, falling intothe night. The ribbon down her left armcaught the fire escape, acting as a bungee,dropping her silently into the alley of theapartment complex. She tipped an unseencap to the man, who watched her withwide eyes from the ledge, then raced intothe darkness of the city. A long night stillahead for her. And too many questions
demanding answers.
Especially about a young mannamed Russell Kerr.
Chapter Four
Soriya Greystone sat on thesecond-floor ledge, looking over theroundabout that surrounded WilliamRath’s memorial statue. The city’s founderstood at fifteen feet tall looking outtoward Evans Avenue and Heaven’s GatePark. Behind the imposing figure, theCentral Precinct, or “lucky thirteen” as itwas known to its occupants, loomed. Six
floors, most of which were made up ofhigher level offices including thecommissioner and his staff. The building,one of the oldest structures within citylimits, featured large gargoyles along widecornices, their gaze stretching in alldirections as guardians in the dark.
Like the woman hiding amongthem.
The window clicked open underher delicate fingers, the locks old andworn. This skill was something shelearned over the years sneaking into
Loren’s office just to mess with him. Thesmall space was dark, perfect for herneeds. After their rooftop rendezvous,Soriya needed to know more aboutRussell Kerr, and with his impendingdeadline and the life at stake, time was anissue.
Eurydice’s journal did little to help.Flowery language, lyrics to songs never tobe sung again. They were not the musingsof a young woman, something sherecognized in herself but never jotted onpaper for fear of Mentor’s prying. No, the
language used, the subjects gleaned in thescant moments Soriya was able todedicate to the former life of EurydiceBaros, proved that the woman was wisebeyond her years.
What it failed to produce was alogical extension of Russell Kerr’s lead.The so-called H inscribed on the frontcover was the only connection betweenthe two victims thus far. Soriya neededmore—more on Russell Kerr. Some wayto trust him completely, the connectionshe had been missing since Loren’s
departure three months earlier.
All to catch a killer.
The office remained clean, a raritywhen it came to the workload heapedupon the members of the CentralPrecinct, especially those on the nightshift under Captain Ruiz’s care. Therewere no mementos, no glimpses into thelife of Russell Kerr. No personal story tobe gleaned from his trophies. Only aplaque with his name engraved and asingle file at the center of the desk.
Aeneas Petrou. The previous
victim. A baker, as noted by theconsultant. His body matched the youngwoman in the one-bedroom apartment.There would be no open casket for either.The furniture in the room followed suitas well. The killer was welcomed into thehome, at least on some level.
There was more, however, than inEurydice’s apartment. The killer focusedits anger, all its violence, on the youngwoman herself. With Aeneas, somethingelse ended up destroyed.
His kitchen. Cabinets. Dishes.
Appliances.
All shredded and upturned. Dentedand clawed.
Not from the struggle. Aeneas wasfound in a hallway, apparently fleeingfrom his attacker without success. Thiswas personal, just like the strike againstthe woman’s vocal cords. This meantsomething, to which Soriya had yet tounderstand.
Nor did she have the time. Thedoor to the office cracked open, a leanfigure against the glass. Soriya ducked out
the window, standing precariously on thethick ledge beside one of the gargoyles,its tongue threatening to lick her face. Shetucked close, kneeling low to avoid anyeyes from the street below. The figure atthe door continued into the room,clicking the light.
“Anyone get a preliminary yet?”Captain Alejo Ruiz screamed.
Garbles greeted the question, lostto the dripping rain outside.
Ruiz stepped deeper into the office,shaking his head. “I don’t need excuses,
Pratchett. I need the report.”
“I think Ronne is…” JohnPratchett muttered in the doorway. Ruizspun around, hand tight to the door.
“Then tell her to move her damnass!”
The door slammed shut, leavingRuiz in the empty office. Soriya crouchedlower, away from view, but she could seeinside. Ruiz looked tired. True, the manpushing the half-century mark alwaysappeared worn to some degree—in hiseyes, in the way his sleeves were rolled up
and his stained tie lay over his chest. Nowit was more. His stance, his slouch, hisevery step spoke volumes to theexhaustion creeping into his bones.
Part of her thought of jumpingback into the office. Getting herquestions answered about Russell Kerr.Maybe even ask about Ruiz, his family,something to make their transition fromLoren easier. Ruiz, however, distrustedher more than anyone, since most knewnothing about her role in the city.Although Ruiz’s eyes were open, he chose
to keep them shut tight, hating her andthe world she represented. More than eversince her world had swallowed up Lorenin the end.
So Soriya waited.
Ruiz paused at the desk. “Where isthis guy? Two months and what the hellhas he done? Glorified paper pusher.”
He snatched the file from thecenter of the desk and flipped through it.A knock at the door startled him.
“Captain?” Pratchett asked through
the glass, his hand wavering near theknob.
“What?” Ruiz shouted. Hestopped, took a deep breath, and leanedhard against the desk. “What is it,Pratchett?”
The door creaked open slightly andthe lanky figure peeked around the frame.“Your wife.”
“Of course it is.”
“I could—”
Ruiz stopped him with a wave.
“Put it through here.”
Pratchett nodded and departed.The phone rang moments later, Ruizrunning his hand through his salt andpepper hair. His wristwatch caught hisattention and his bloodshot eyesreddened further. “Of course that’s thetime too.”
Ruiz sat down at Russell Kerr’sdesk and lifted the receiver, slowly placingit to his ear.
“Michelle, before you start—”
Soriya tried not to listen fromoutside the window, hearing everythingshe needed about Russell Kerr. Still, sheremained, watching the man’s shadow fallfurther with each word spoken as well asthose left unsaid.
“I do know,” he muttered. “I do.There was…”
Ruiz paused, which didn’t surpriseSoriya. He always paused when it came tohis family. The line he had placed betweenthem. Knowing the true city and trying tokeep it from them. To save them from the
darkness that surrounded Portents.
“Work,” he finished. “Yeah. Likealways. I’ll be home soon.” His headlowered, the lie hanging between them. “Isaid I will. I….”
He pulled the phone away, a dialtone on the other end. The receiverclanged loudly into place on the desk.
“…Love you.”
Ruiz stood, file in hand. Hemarched to the door, stopping short tofix his tie and arch his back. He took a
deep breath then returned to the noiseand chaos of the detective bureau.
“Will someone get me Ronne onthe phone? I’ve got two evisceratedbodies and no patience!”
Soriya dropped from her perch tothe street below. Holding tight to the wallof the precinct, Soriya clung to theshadows like a shield, watching theentrance and the man approaching.
Russell Kerr.
His gait staggered then paused at
the approach of another. Hady Ronnewaddled toward the building. Russell lether pass, eyeing her every step for thedoor. His teeth gritted, shining in thedarkness. Even through the rain, Soriyacould hear them grinding, almost snarlingat the woman.
A shift in the wind pulled at her,alerting her to soft steps approachingfrom behind. Her hand shot out to greether visitor. Slender fingers snatched thepale arm of the person sneaking up onher. She let it drop, not bothering to look.
“You should know better than tosneak up on me,” Soriya said, a wide grinon her face. She turned to see a man stepout of the shadows behind her, his hair aspale as his skin, his beard close cut alonghis cheeks. His right leg slowed his stepand though a scar ran from his left eye tohis ear, she knew he saw more clearly thanmost.
Mentor reminded her of that factwhenever he could.
“And you should know better thanto work with outsiders.”
Chapter Five
“I thought I would find you here.”
Soriya had grown accustomed tothe tone after so many years together.When Mentor first saved her from a lifeof obscurity and ridicule at Saint Helena’sOrphanage, Soriya believed she found afamily. He offered her a new beginning, anew life. In a way, that was true, thoughMentor kept the title to be more of a
teacher than a parent to her. Their titlesgave them strength as well as purpose.More than a name. Names were fornormal people.
For Soriya, however, her titlebrought with it lectures. Lessons drilledinto her, even at the age of five. Mostchildren went through it, of course:brush your teeth, comb your hair, go tobed. Where Soriya’s education differedwas in the job laid at her feet uponturning seventeen.
At becoming the Greystone, the
protector of the city of Portents.
Where others learned social skillsby playing with their contemporaries,Soriya received lessons on the nuances ofthe King James Bible and the extendedfamily of the Greek Pantheon. Preparingfor the job ahead. The job she wantedmore than anything. To please her teacher.To make him proud. A child looking foraffection, for that connection she lost atthe age of four.
She was still waiting.
“I’m working,” Soriya said, her
voice sharper than intended. She hatedhis presence when working of late—thepressure that came with it. Turning backto the front of the precinct, she realizedRussell Kerr was already gone. Lost inthe shadows of the night, most likelyheading to their rendezvous at the Maple.To hunt a killer.
Her job.
“With others again.” Mentorreached for her and she pulled back,pacing deeper into the alley. “Soriya…”
“I’ve heard the lecture before,” she
snapped. Her fists balled up against hersides.
“Not a lecture,” Mentor replied. “Awarning.”
It meant the same to the woman oftwenty-two. They were lessons and edictshanded to a child—pounded into herbeing. It kept choice out of the mix. Itwas Mentor’s way with no deviation. Noalternatives. But Soriya wanted one—shewanted more.
No longer the child dutifullyserving her teacher to the best of her
ability, Soriya was the Greystone. She hadher role and she thrived on it over the lastfive years, earning the title, yet Mentorsaw only her youth. The rashness. Themistakes.
“Loren….” Soriya stopped.Bringing up her former partner, thedetective, was always a sore subject withMentor. Loren helped with many casesover the last four years, before leavingtown for a new life in Chicago. He gaveher so much during their time together.Friendship. Partnership. New eyes to see
the city in a fresh and unique way. Aboveall, trust.
A trust Mentor had difficulty withwhen it came to their relationship.
“Loren is gone,” Mentor replied.“He left. The work we do, the cause weserve, is not one taken lightly or easilyunderstood by others.”
She waved him off. “Outsiders. Iget it. I do.”
Mentor sighed, pointing to thestreet. “Who is he?”
“A shrink,” Soriya said quietly.“Working for the precinct on theseanimal attacks.”
“Not an animal.” Mentor shook hishead. “Not completely.”
There was no assumption, nodoubt behind his words. Just knowledge.For Mentor, everything came down toknowing. Somehow, without having tohear anything about the case, the detailsat the scene of Eurydice’s murder, thestate of her body, Mentor knew what wasout there. Soriya bit her lower lip,
frustrated to no end at how much hardershe had to work for the answers.
“I figured as much,” Soriya said,unwilling to ask for the answer Mentorheld. Answers came to those who found the rightquestions. To those who saw the world moreclearly.
“Do you trust him?” Mentor asked.
“I don’t know,” Soriya replied. Sheturned to him with soft eyes. “I don’tdistrust him.”
Mentor smirked. “Caution is a sign
of wisdom.”
“A compliment?”
Mentor turned away. “Anappreciation. Do you want my…?”
“I’ve got it,” she said quickly. It wasin his face, in the way his hand grazed hisright leg, an old injury from an old friend.The exhaustion. The pain. The reason sheworked alone. A reason why her teacherspent more time in books, buried deep intheir underground domicile, and less onthe street actively chasing the monsters inthe city. A reason neither wanted to admit
to the other. She patted the pouch to herhip containing the Greystone. “Thanks. Ican handle it.”
Before she slipped into the nightfor her rendezvous, Mentor stopped her.“Soriya…”
She sighed, realizing the firstlecture would not be the last one on theevening. “Outsider lecture was enough,Mentor.”
“Your reliance on the stone of late—”
“Saves lives,” she finished, her bodytense.
“No,” Mentor said. “You save lives.”
His thin, gray eyes caught hers inthe dark, holding her there. Sheunderstood the lesson. She alwaysunderstood them on some level. It was inthe listening aspect of their relationshipwhere she faltered.
She nodded slowly.
“You know where to find me,”Mentor said, dropping his hand away. He
moved for the shadows of the alley,letting them slowly envelop his wiryframe.
Soriya looked to the street beforethem. The bustling traffic dwindled dueto the late hour. The young, the brash,surviving in the shadows of Portents. Thecity thrived around them.
“You should trust them more. It’stheir city too.”
Soriya turned to face the darknessin the alley, knowing Mentor was alreadygone.
Chapter Six
Commerce under the gleamingblack spire of Evans Tower in the heartof the city came in many forms. Therewas the industrial complex on Burroughsand the warehouse district along theeastern border of Portents. There wasalso the Cobblestone, an old worldmarket on Allure, offering goods andservices in a more traditional sense.
Bartering. Camaraderie. Business thrivedin the downtown district.
None more so than the Maple.
Stretching the length of three cityblocks with suspended walkways bridgingthe connecting streets, the Maple stood asa hub for the people of Portents. Duringthe day, thousands of shoppers enteredthe mall’s waiting arms for commercialand personal pleasure of all kinds. A gymoccupied the interior of an entire block.Cafes ran along the ground level exteriorfor the casual passerby. Hundreds of
shops littered the confines of the space,allowing a thorough distraction for all.
During the day, anyway.
Night told a different story, thesame story the people of Portentsunderstood on a subconscious level. Theshops closed with the fading sun, thedoors locked, and the people were goneuntil the morning for another round.
The city wasn’t safe at night.
Soriya Greystone understood thatmore than most, sticking to the shadows
outside the Maple complex. She found anunlocked platform door, rollingunderneath it to the loading zone for themall’s shipments. It took her little time toexit the area through hallways thatsupported mall operations until finallylocating the main employee entrance. Nosecurity presented itself, no oppositionnoted.
Was she in the right place? No, thatwas the wrong question. Was she doingthe right thing? That was closer toaddressing the doubts in her mind. The
doubts Mentor gave her with each lecture.She didn’t know Russell Kerr. There wasno reason to place her faith in his tip.Still, she came. Why?
Instead of an answer, the sound ofmuffled breath, of clicking heels alongtile echoed in the hall. Soriya tucked closeto the wall, waiting for the approachingtarget. Her hand slipped to her hip,untying the pouch containing the smallstone she carried.
A shadow stepped around thecorner, and she instinctively grabbed the
figure’s arm. She threw the tall shadowagainst the far wall.
“Hey,” Russell cried out, his facescrunched against the wall. “It’s me!”
Soriya let the arm drop andstepped back.
Russell nursed his arm. “You’relate.”
“Not even close,” Soriya replied.“Get a watch.”
Russell put a finger to his lips thenled them down the long hall. Soriya stuck
close, letting her new consultant lead. Herright hand remained close to her hip andthe weapon attached to it. She felt theribbons down her left side tighten againsther skin.
Outsiders are a risk. Outsiders cannotbe trusted.
“It’s down here,” Russell said,leading her through the back of the mall.Doors ran the length of the right-handwall, each to a different storefront on thefirst level of the three-block mall. Hepaused for a moment, peering into the
small window of the nearest door. “Ithink it’s down here, anyway.”
Soriya sighed. “How exactly are wegetting inside?”
Russell dug into his pocket. Whenhis calloused fingers returned, a key wasdangling between them. “Found this.”
“You found it?”
“At a security desk,” he replied,shrugging. “I’ll put it back.”
“A rule breaker?”
“When I have to be,” Russell said.“Come on.”
They took the stairs to the secondlevel, heading quickly through theoverpass between blocks. Another hallstretched before them. And more doors.
A security station sat empty in thecenter of the corridor. Offices split offbehind it, the operation’s center for thispart of the complex.
“Where is security?” Soriya asked.
“Few needed with the amount of
surveillance throughout the place.Welcome to the future and all that.”
“Probably keeps the psychiatriccommunity flush with paranoid patients,”Soriya chided.
“I do all right,” Russell smirked,moving for the station. He stopped shortof the console, eyes on the ground.“Better than these guys, it seems.”
Soriya joined him. Two large menlay on the ground in a crumpled heap.She crouched low, checking for vitals.“Unconscious.”
“Looks like we were both late,”Russell said. He stepped over the bodiesfor the console. The monitors wereblacked out, the cameras down for thenight.
“I wasn’t….” Soriya stopped at thesound of footsteps down the hall. “Is thatthe place?”
Russell nodded. “I’ll call forbackup.”
“Not necessary,” Soriya repliedwith a smirk.
“Soriya,” Russell started and shewaved him off.
“Right. Shrink.”
Russell sighed. “We don’t typicallylike that term.”
“You want to argue that pointnow?”
“Let me call it in,” Russell saidagain.
Soriya shook her head, startingdown the hall. “No time.”
“Hey,” Russell called. “These arevicious killers. Don’t be stupid.”
She smiled at his concern. “I won’t.Also won’t risk someone’s life playing itsafe. I’ve got this, Kerr.”
Russell tossed her the key, thenpulled out his cell phone. “I’ll be rightbehind you.”
Flying down the hall, Soriya’s grinremained undiminished, the trust shownby her new colleague filling her withconfidence.
She stepped inside the shop calledLocales—small and packed, an antiqueshop with various odds and ends. Thecounter sat to the left with a clear view ofall traffic in and out of the shop. Thewalls were crammed with scenic displaysof European destinations, the shelvespacked with souvenirs from each venue.
Cautiously, Soriya removed theGreystone, clutching it tight to her side.Her steps slowed, matching her breathing.She listened intently, scanning the aisleslining the store, unaware of the door
closing behind her until it slammed shutwith a resounding echo. She spun around,reaching for the handle.
Locked. She tried the key but thedoor refused to open.
“Great.”
As she turned back to the room,two men waited for her. From out of theshadows littering the space, the lightingabove offering little more than a child’snight-light would, they lumbered towardher. Big ones, tall and built. It seemed tobe a thing with her and men lately.
“Hello boys,” she called out.
The pale one to her right grinned.“Finally.”
“Some fun,” his dark-skinnedcolleague said.
Soriya watched them closely. “Heynow. That’s my line.”
“Shouldn’t have gotten involved,lady,” the pale one continued, cracking hisknuckles.
“Nothing personal,” his colleaguesaid.
Soriya nodded, fists clenched.“Agreed.”
She waited for the attack,anticipating the battle cries and the bloodto start flowing. It was a rhythmic danceshe yearned for more than she cared toadmit. Instead, she watched the two menstand before her, both carrying widegrins.
Then the change started.
Low and guttural cries of painescaped their lips. Their bodies becamemangled, their faces twisted from the
handsome killer look to something out ofa horror film. Noses turned to snouts,ears enlarging and teeth sharpening intofangs. Hair erupted, long and ragged,dark on one, white as a sheet on the other.Where once two men stood now therewere a pair of rabid dogs.
Very large dogs.
“And I thought you were uglybefore.”
They pounced, and Soriya doveunder their assault. A claw seared her leftarm but she made no sound, letting her
momentum carry her across the room,and then immediately bouncing back toher feet. The ribbons, a gift from Kali,worked quickly to bind the wound beforestretching out to greet the dog to her left.
It wrapped quickly around his arm,the searing pain doubled back upon himin the form of heat and flame. The beastyelped in pain, swiping at the ribbon tono effect. It snapped back into place,retracting through the air in a dancebefore their eyes.
Soriya gave them no quarter, no
time for repose, and leapt back into thefray despite the remnants of pain downher left side. She kicked out hard,connecting with the pale-haired mutt toher right. His head snapped back fromthe impact, and he sailed through aMediterranean display.
As she attempted to press herassault on the fallen beast, Soriya wasgreeted by the claws of his companion.She dodged them, sliding back deeperinto the room. There were no exits. Noway out except through the two men that
had managed to trap her in this space.
Why? Who were they? What werethey after? Too many questions filled theroom, a room that required absolutesilence to focus on the dance before her.She gripped the Greystone tightly in herright hand. Nothing would give hergreater pleasure than ending the threatbut the questions remained.
Mentor would know. Instinctively,without effort. He would see the creaturesfor what they were.
The beasts snarled and growled at
her, two animals without reason. Withoutcause.
There would be no answers coming.
Soriya slipped under the assault ofthe dark-haired dog, kicking out at theknee of his companion. The pale dog fellonce more in a heap, mowing downshelves of purses. Soriya caught thesecond’s arm between her hands. Usinghis strength to lift herself up, she droveanother kick against his left cheek.
Both struggled to rise. She couldn’tlet them, sensing the tightness on her left
arm, the sweat covering her like a film.They would offer no answers and shewould not ask.
Survival won out.
She held the stone before her,finding its coldness soothing. Lightsurrounded her, the face of the stoneshifting, and the energy of the runeforming on its surface taking hold.
Soriya focused every ounce of will
into the stone, the Thurisaz castingcausing the beasts before her to howl inpain. They thrashed along the ground,feeling the effects of the purging forcedupon them by the stone in the grip of theyoung woman. Hair receded, facialfeatures reformed. Their bodies, gnarledand mashed by the transformation,returned to their human state.
Dazed from the change, bothstruggled to find their feet. Soriya refusedto let that happen. After tucking the stoneaway, its job completed, she met each of
them with a solid right hook. First oneand then the other.
Breathing hard, Soriya scanned theroom. No potential victims in sight. Noclear threat to anyone other than her.There was also no sound of sirensapproaching.
No backup called.
These are vicious killers.
It hit her harder than her attackerscould. Killers. Plural.
He knew.
Russell Kerr, his name suddenlymaking a sick kind of sense to theadrenaline-soaked Soriya at the sight ofthe two men at her feet. Even the numberof them spoke to her.
He set her up.
Chapter Seven
Monitors beeped, lines constrictingand contracting to the beat of SoriyaGreystone’s heart. She hated waiting—thesense that she was missing somethingwhen it was all laid out before her. Theanswers she had spent the night gathering.From Eurydice’s body to her journal,from Russell Kerr to his two unconsciousbuddies.
It was all about the man in thebedroom behind her. The final piecehanded to her not by a database in a shopbut by the lessons pounded into her byMentor, the stories and history learned,pointing her to the final victim and thekiller that had led her along all night.
Russell Kerr.
The sound of the window openingkickstarted her adrenaline. Her heartpounded in her ears, her body tense withanticipation. She hated waiting. Thesound could have been anything, really.
She knew the truth, though. Ten storiesup in the penthouse apartment of theParthenon uptown, the sound of awindow opening from outside meant theparty was about to start.
It meant the killer had finallyarrived.
He dropped without a sound in thelarge, open living space connected to thebedroom. His eyes were ravenous withexcitement, the thrill of the hunt leadinghim so far in such a short time.
Two months since taking his
position with the Portents PoliceDepartment. All for this moment. Soriyacouldn’t help but smile at being the oneto dash his dreams.
“I wondered how long it wouldtake you,” she said, her words cuttingthrough the darkness of the suite.
Russell Kerr jumped to his feet, theexcitement turned to curiosity. “How didyou…?”
Soriya cracked her knuckles. “I’msure you figured your boys were all setwith little ol’ me downtown so you had
the rest of the night for this. No rush.Not with this one. Not with yourprecious H.”
“I don’t know….” His wordsbetrayed his stance. He had the words ofa psychologist, but the body of a cold-blooded killer.
“You don’t know much. About me,anyway.” Soriya slipped out of her jacket,placing it gently on the couch behind her.Her arm ached but she ignored it, lettingthe thin ribbon race down her left side,dancing in the stale air of the penthouse.
“You saw me as a threat. And, boy, I suream one now.”
Russell’s chest heaved. Sweattrickled down his cheeks. “This wasn’tmeant to involve you. Or anyone. Whathe did —”
“Was a lifetime ago. Many of them,in fact. What took you so long?”
“He was hidden, kept safe byshadows. You know nothing of this,Greystone.”
Soriya smiled. “Oh. You think I
don’t? The honey cookies? Eurydice, thewoman with the melodic voice? And thisguy? How could I not?”
Soriya failed to mention the rest.While waiting in the darkened penthouse,she cracked open Eurydice’s journal oncemore. This time later in the book. Thelyrical prose turned to fear. She felt eyeson her, heard the barking of dogs chasingafter her in her nightmares.
“Then you understand this ispersonal. Get out of my way.”
“No,” Soriya said, slipping the
Greystone from the pouch on her hip.
“Don’t make me—”
“You’ll have to. Go on. Show me.”
Russell Kerr hesitated for amoment, her confidence staggering him.Then he heard the coughing of the manin the bedroom, unaware of his unwantedvisitors. Russell’s eyes flared, the angerand determination in them obviousbefore the transformation began.
Dark brown hair erupted fromopen pores. His eyes widened, his nose
turning to the snout of the beast. Thegreat dog snarled at her in its rage.
“There you are,” Soriya said. “Thethird head of Cerberus. And damn areyou ugly.”
“He’s mine,” Russell growledthrough enlarging fangs, his control overthe beast inside greater than that of hisbrethren. “For what he has done, hisdeath belongs to me.”
“Not tonight.”
Russell lunged for her, claws
swiping at the air. Soriya danced around,the ribbons of Kali spinning around herlike a shield. The Greystone rested tightin her grasp yet she hesitated to use it.Mentor’s words refused to abate, thelessons unceasing in her thoughts.
It didn’t matter to her in thatmoment. The heat of the exchange droveher—exhilarated her greater than sex, yetcentered her. Her peace of mind dodgedthe beast’s anger—futile attempts todismember her lost to the thin windblowing through the apartment from the
open window.
Russell remained determined,cutting the air over her. She dropped toher knees, the blow missing by inches.The ribbons down her left side shot out,ensnaring the great dog’s limbs andwrapping tight. The smell of burning furfilled her senses and she grinned, listeningto the screams of Russell Kerr above her.
Satisfied, her leg shot out, collidingwith his knee, driving him toward thebalcony. The wounded beast staggered,trying to catch his breath. The ribbons
retracted, allowing Soriya the freedom tofollow through on her assault, continuingto force him back.
Russell snapped his teeth, hopingfor a moment’s breath. He was met withanother blow, this time by her fist.
The French doors to the balconyshattered from his weight, and windwhipped around her. She jumped towardthe flailing beast, catching hold of longstrands of fur on his chest to keep thecreature from falling.
“It’s over!” Soriya shouted over the
rain.
Through gritted fangs, Russell spatblood at her. Even in this form, she couldsee his grin. “You think there are onlythree? You’re wrong. More will come forhim.”
She pulled him close. “Then I’ll behere. Now be a good boy and play dead.”
Soriya dropped him on the balcony,letting the rain wash over his wounds. Hewas defeated. There was no reason tocontinue.
Russell Kerr failed to see it thatway. Seething from his loss, the greatguard dog of Hell lunged once more ather, looking for the kill.
The stone lit before he even left theground. She held the Greystone beforeher. The rune was already glowing andthe wind, once whipping into thepenthouse, turned back onto RussellKerr.
It slammed into his assault, histowering frame suspended in mid-air fora moment, before the second rush ofwind struck him like a hurricane. Hisbody soared into the night air, over theedge of the balcony, and down ten storiesto the street below.
Soriya peered over the railing,knowing what would be there. RussellKerr, naked and broken. His final taskincomplete.
She turned back to the penthouse.The French doors refused to close
properly but she did her best to keepthem from slamming against the frame.
Nothing remained from thestruggle. The noise of it all. The blood-pumping thrill from it. All that was gone,lost behind the sound of the machinesbeeping and air struggling to escape thelungs of the man in the bedroom.
Quietly, she opened the door,slipping inside. The man was old, wastedaway from lifetimes of struggles. Awithered husk, not long for the world.His eyes opened, piercing the dark and
seeing her.
H. The man the world once knewas Heracles. Gatekeeper of Olympus anda hated enemy of Cerberus. One of manyas the body count of the night indicated.Aeneas and Eurydice taken before theyknew of the threat. Before they could act.
Her finger pressed tight to her lips.Soothing. She approached, her handreaching for his. “You’re safe. He won’t—”
“Safe. From him.” The old mancoughed but nothing came up. He
steadied, patting lightly upon her coldhand.
“Yes. I took care of him.”
“So proud of this.” He tried tosmile. “I remember the feeling. Pride atmy work, my trials—all twelve passedbeyond measure. But nothing preparesyou for the last. The final trial at the endof things.”
His hand slipped away, his eyesclosing from the exertion. In the darkness,Soriya Greystone nodded. Sheunderstood. He didn’t need saving. He
certainly didn’t need killing.
The world took care of that.
Her steps toward the door wereslow, her thoughts heavy from the eventsof the night, refusing to listen to thesound of the machines falling silent.
Chapter Eight
Dawn approached and signified theend of a long night for Soriya Greystone.Her limbs ached, blood caked to herebony skin like a badge of honor. Shestood on the rooftop of the ParthenonLuxury Suites, staring out over the city.The rushing sound of the morningtraffic. The ebony tower at the center,guiding the citizens of Portents through
the streets of the city.
Her city.
Mentor had been right. He alwayswas, in his own terminally curmudgeonlyway. His lessons echoed in her thoughts,knowing they would be repeated over thecourse of the next few days. He wouldknow the truth even if she nevermentioned the events of the evening. Healways knew.
Outsiders could not be trusted.Russell Kerr proved it to be true.Outsiders were a risk, one that almost
ended Soriya’s short stint as protector ofthe city. Most of the time it was due totheir inability to understand the truth ofthe city around them. This time, however,came from her own ignorance to thesituation. To the world around her.
Cerberus.
A real threat, one possibly largerthan she could handle on her own. But itwas hers to handle, and would always behers. Russell Kerr would not take thataway from her.
Nor would he stop her trust of the
city, even against Mentor’s wishes. Sheneeded the connection. It made herwhole. Not only that but the fact that hertrust in Kerr, no matter how thin ortenuous it was, gave her the ability to savea life. That initial trust showed her thetrue face of Kerr and his brethren. Theslightest trust ended the threat.
Even Mentor would not deny that.She did her job.
Doubt lingered within her. Lorenwould have been able to make sense ofthem, while also congratulating her on a
job well done. He would have helped her.
Loren.
Even after three months,everything came back to him. To theirrelationship. Their partnership. The trustbetween them. Everything was simplerwith him. Even in the darker times.
Dawn approached, the sun fightingbehind the cloud cover. Remnants fromthe previous week’s unexpected storm hadfinally faded. The day brought a newbeginning for the city and an end forSoriya. Sleep was in the cards, as were
more lectures from Mentor, of course.There was no avoiding them, though shewould do her best. But after that, therewould be rest.
Soriya inched to the edge of therooftop, shuffling slowly along the ledgetoward the fire escape. Her hip vibrated,the phone opposite the small stonepulsing against her. Curious, she lifted itdespite the pain running down her arm.
Vlad. Another outsider. Anothertrusted friend. His text filled the screen.
It was about a new case.
Four women were missing. All ofthem connected to a downtown bar calledthe Night Owls. All mundane police workuntil the last bit of information passedon the screen.
POSSIBLE GOD INVOLVED.GOT SOME TIME?
Soriya Greystone tucked the phoneaway. She smiled coyly against the dimlight of the dawn. Her pain was gone.The aches subsided. She raced for theedge of the building, soaring out into thesky.
Ready for more fun.
About the Author
Lou Paduano isthe author ofthe Greystoneseries of novelsincluding Signsof Portents andTales from
Portents. He livesin Buffalo, NewYork with hiswife and twodaughters. Signup for his e-maillist for freecontent as wellas updates onfuture releases atwww.loupaduano.com.
Portents is a citylike no other—and one thatDetective GregLoren can’t waitto escape. Sincehis wife’s deathyears earlier,Loren haslooked forwardto the momenthe can leave thecity of Portentsfor good—andnever look back. But fate has
another plan forLoren. Calledback to duty,Loren findshimselfembroiled in aseries ofmurders that hasshaken the city.Together withSoriyaGreystone, ayoung womanwith unearthlypowers, Lorenmust workquickly to findthe otherworldlybeing that is
killing citizensof Portents oneat a time. Lorenis tasked withdeciphering themysterious signsleft at each ofthe crimescenes…even ifit meanstraveling toworlds not hisown to do so.
COMINGFEBRUARY 2017
Six tales ofmonsters, the deadrising, and theterrors of Portents. The beastsDetective Lorenand SoriyaGreystonebattled in Signsof Portents werejust a hint ofwhat lurks in thecity. Tales fromPortents exploresthe city’simmersive
history,including storiesof Loren’sdescent after hiswife’s death—and hisopportunity tohave her risefrom the grave.Among thepages, Soriyabattles gremlins,navigates lessonswith Mentor,and meets thewerewolfLuchik. Follownew characterswith expansive
histories as theycome face toface with thehorrors ofPortents—bothhuman andotherwise. From theGreystoneCollection, Talesfrom Portentsnavigates thecases that makeeven DetectiveLoren lie awakeat night.
COMINGSEPTEMBER 2017
Death has come toPortents. Three monthsafter the Nightof the Lights thecity has changed.Detective GregLoren strugglesto find his placein the city, whilehis partner,Soriya finds herconfidenceshattered in aninstant. Something iswrong with the
Greystone. There isn't timeto worry aboutit, however. Anew menacestalks the streets,slaughteringinnocentsmercilessly. Whois controlling it?Who has foundaccess to themysteriousMedusa Coin?And what doesit mean for thecity?
Faced with aninsurmountablechallenge, willLoren andSoriya be able toovercome thisnew threat orwill they fallwith the rest ofPortents?