Sink In Your Claws

  “Shezmu. Demon god of execution and slaughter,” Einar pulled off his glasses and rubbed his forehead. “The divine butcher.”

  “That’s right,” she said. “Dual natured—also the god of oil and wine, of processing.”

  “Processing?” Michael leaned forward.

  “Like meat packing . . .” Einar took another drink.

  “Sometimes portrayed as a press worker, other times a demon.” Kait swigged beer and positioned more shards. “Shezmu’s rare in images or objects. Carving was valuable if it was authentic. It’s a bitch someone smashed it. If they’re leaving fragments at crime scenes . . .”

  “Or it,” Einar said. “Don’t think it’s human.”

  “Execution and wine?” Michael shook his head. Loki might be saner than the humans.

  “Evil.” Einar banged the bottle on the table. “Killer’s telling us fardð til fjandanns. Go to hell.”

  Michael glanced at Kait. “Shit. We’re in trouble. He’s speaking Icelandic.”

  Einar eyed them.

  “Slaughter to absorb power,” Kait said. “Shezmu butchered gods in old Egyptian mythology. It’s disturbing whether real or a fake. What kind of killer is this?”

  “Egyptian demon god?” Michael ran fingers through his hair. Weariness hammered his shoulders. “Rather fucking arcane. Why? What’s it mean?”

  “Not good,” Einar said. “It's a message. Evil rather than animal.” He finished his beer and fetched three more. Passed them around.

  Michael shook his head. “Demons? Seriously?” Kait and Einar exchanged glances again, which was never a good sign. “Both of you—weird kindred spirits. Spinning mad tales about Egyptian butchers. You get each other going.”

  “We’re not joking,” Kait said.

  “Monsters,” Einar said.

  Michael groaned. “Enough monster crap.”

  “Humans can be monsters.” Kait fingered the shards. “History's filled with them.”

  “Shit. Can’t believe what I’m hearing. The killer’s a thing? Can’t wrap my head around it. We can’t document a monster in a case file. Can’t put it in a police report or circulate a sketch and describe it as ‘devil suspect, big claws, big teeth, knows Egyptian mythology.”

  Einar shook his head. “We could. But no one would believe us.”

  Kait hesitated. “Can you transfer this case to the FBI?”

  Einar didn’t comment. He stared at the floor, beer in hand.

  Michael raised an eyebrow. “On what grounds? The FBI won’t believe us. We’d be ridiculed.”

  “Firepower, manpower, analytical capabilities,” she said. “Law enforcement other than you two dealing with it.”

  Michael looked from one to the other. “What would we say? Rational minds would think we’re crazy.”

  “Rational again.” Einar drank and cocked his head. “We return to rational.” He shook Michael’s shoulder. “You’re too rational, Mikey.”

  “Christ, Einar. You know I don’t like that name.”

  “What are friends for if not to torment you?” He smiled then his expression faded. “Speaking of rational, Laina sent images of skeletons found at Stockholm and Oslo kill sites. I’d have showed them to you had you come to work today.”

  Michael ignored his jab. “And?”

  “Laina told me I’d have to show them to my rational partner.”

  “Why?”

  “They aren’t rational. They aren’t, anatomically speaking, human.”

  Kait’s eyes widened.

  Michael stared. Skeletal proof? Ridiculous.

  Einar locked eyes with him. “They’re misshapen killing machines. Monsters.”

  Michael pressed fingers to his temples. The conversation hurt his brain. Time to blot it out. Loki stirred and nudged him, wet nose against his hand. They were exhausted. He needed sleep. They all did. In the morning they’d be sane. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Killer’s not a person. Skeletons aren’t human. They’re humanoid. They unsheathe claws to attack. Jaws filled with pointed teeth. We have to consider other possibilities.”

  “I agree,” Kait said. “Implausible, but maybe . . . it is monstrous. There are things in the world we don’t understand. I believe in evil.” She exhaled. “Ripping children apart is evil. What else do you call it?”

  Michael stared. Demons tearing with claws didn’t exist. “I love a good monster movie, and atomic ants are exciting and all . . . but they aren’t real.” He hesitated. “This my penance for going AWOL? Three Hail Marys, genuflect and a monster for good measure?”

  “No religion involved. We’re facing evil, not humanity. Even if . . .” Einar stared. “We can’t say we’re monster hunting.”

  “Religion encompasses evil,” Kait said.

  Did beer and exhausted minds spin delusions? “Stop K, come back to reality. Einar, this weird unquestioning belief is why other partners bailed. It sounds psychotic. Don’t you get that?”

  “Yes. So?”

  “Why is evil hard to grasp?” Kait countered. “The Tibetan Book of the Dead includes divine demons, or, if you prefer, vampires called baital. Sanskrit folklore mentions vetalas, undead beings who inhabit corpses. Demons and monsters have been around for centuries. They’re older than the bible.”

  Einar raised his bottle and drank. “Much older.”

  Michael rubbed his neck. “We’re tired. You’re both insane. I’m boring in comparison, hunting familiar human trash.”

  She smiled. “Boring? Don't think so. You sing to iguanas. Seduce women with bug movies.”

  He blushed.

  “Bugs, Mikey. Hmm . . . you eat them and use them to get laid. That's a new one.”

  “Shut up.”

  Kait squeezed his hand.

  “Look . . . many cultures have fluid divisions between living and dead.” Einar patted his back. “Colleagues mock me, but Icelanders believe in elves and trolls, hidden people. Those who say they don’t, well . . . they avoid disturbing supposed huldufólk habitat anyway. Hell, Icelandic mythology includes demons and vampires—the fyglia is a flesh-eating member of the undead. The draugr comes in two varieties, one for land and one for sea.”

  “Of course it does,” Michael said.

  “The kicker for the draugr? Smells terrible. You know it’s coming from the stench that precedes it. Just like Bigfoot.”

  Michael shook his head. “Stop shitting around. Icelanders go crazy during long winters, get Seasonal Affective Disorder and hallucinate. Upstate New York magnified.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Think about it.” Einar leaned closer. “Icelanders live on a frozen active volcanic island. Lava fields command the landscape. Slashes plunge into earth where tectonic plates divide. Darkness half the year. Forces beyond control. Things go wrong without warning.” He pounded his bottle on the table.

  “Einar,” Kait said, “calm down. Your face is red.”

  He brushed her off. “Cauldrons form in ice caps, outburst floods explode from beneath glaciers! Why are monsters more unfathomable than molten magma shooting out of the earth or volcanic eruptions liquefying tons of ice?”

  “Einar . . . relax.”

  “Geology and geography aren’t crazy,” Michael said. “You’re crazy. You’re batshit over monsters.” He grabbed her beer and took a swig. “Ghouls and demons, blood-sucking what-ever-the-hell . . . listen to you.”

  “No, everyone else’s wrong. This job has taught me beyond a doubt evil exists.” Einar yelled. “How can you not believe after these crime scenes?”

  “Both of you, breath. Please . . . Where do we go from here?” She peeled Michael's fingers away from her bottle. “How can I help? This case is eating at you. Don’t like what I see.”

  “We anticipate its moves, put ourselves in its head,” Einar said. “We hunt it.”

  Kait looked concerned. “I don’t think—”

  “Beat it to the next victim. Mimic its stalking m
ethods.”

  Michael looked at his partner. Maybe Einar wasn't so crazy. “Can’t believe it. But . . . I agree.” He’d seen its path. “Stones lead north of Gates.”

  “Wisdom strikes,” Einar said. “I win. I prove my point. Actually, you beat me to it. You win.” He stood and stretched, setting his empty bottle on the table. “I’ll leave you lovers alone with your beastly black canine. And . . . we won’t go into lore about giant hellhounds and—”

  “No, we won’t.” Michael shook his head. “I can’t take anymore.”

  “Mikey, take tomorrow off. Sleep. See you Thursday—on time, rested. I won’t bark. Promise.” Einar bent over, patted Loki on the head and did the same to Michael.

  “Christ.”

  “Come on. You found the demonic pieces. Admit it. Moved the case along more than you realize.” He retrieved his tie and looked into his partner’s eyes, laid a hand on his arm. “Get sleep, Michael. That’s an order.”

  Michael leaned back and lolled his head to the side. “Yes sir.” Loki perked his ears and licked his face.

  Einar laughed.

  Kait got up and walked him to the door. “Thanks. For everything. Yeah, you’re his boss and all, but you’re also a good friend.”

  “Not sure he’d agree. I pissed him off today. Course, he pissed me off, too. I’d say we’re even.” He put his arm around her shoulder. “I like how you think. Tell him not to quit on me. Make sure he gets sleep . . . don’t let him wander into the wilderness, mental or otherwise.”

  She hugged him.

  Einar fetched his suit jacket and coat. He saw the pig skull on the table. “Impressive specimen. Great teeth. Who says monsters don’t exist?”

  CHAPTER 13

  2011 Late November

  Time was running out. He smelled the air, nostrils twitching. Winter was near. He extended a clawed hand and pulled himself between two boulders to the weathered pine above, waiting.

  At the last kill, he’d watched the young detective. The man had approached the bank and crouched.

  Shit. He’d messed up.

  Grabbed the boy but hadn’t counted on interference. Damn that retriever. Pissed after encountering the dog, he’d made a mistake. Stepped out of the water and allowed his weight to sink, leaving an elongated footprint on the muddy bank. That couldn’t happen again.

  He tasted the chill and listened, scrambling over stones and fallen logs. Hastened his pace and hunted with aggression as temperatures dropped. The forty-day mark neared. He needed to master killing or he’d suffer the other revenants’ fate. None had made it past the immature phase.

  But prey had been hard to find. The dog had thrown him off his last meal. Desperate, he’d killed a deer, then a coyote, but was unable to eat the acrid meat. Nothing satisfied like salty young human flesh and blood. He would make the next kill regardless of complications.

  *

  “Welcome back, Mikey.” Einar handed him coffee and a bag of chili-lime crickets. “You look human this morning. See what rest can do?”

  Michael eyed him.

  “Sleep, the miracle drug.”

  “Okay. You made your point.” Michael accepted the final peace offering. “And with crickets even. Thanks.”

  Einar shrugged. “Least I could do. Hell, you’re talking to me again after I barked at you.”

  Michael smiled.

  Einar had commandeered the wood-paneled interview room over Cresson’s protests. He’d gathered materials they’d need to strategize catching monsters, although that’s not how he described it to the other detectives. He leaned over the large oak table with hands extended, palms down, holding a US Geologic Survey map poised to roll back into a tight cylinder without his intervention.

  Michael set the coffee down and peered at the map. He fidgeted, arms crossed, finger clicking the button of a red pen.

  Einar glanced at him. In old jeans and a dark rough sweater, he looked more like a weekend college student than a cop. Cresson must have noticed when he walked into the office. Several times within the last year Cap had told Einar to compel him to dress more professionally. Yeah, because Cresson bitched and Cap was tired of hearing the same damn thing over and over again. Well, let him say it again. At least Michael was functioning. Einar was more concerned with solving cases.

  Maps and charts lay strewn on the table and hung over the edges—topographical maps, river guides, road atlases. Above them lay grisly crime scene photos dotted with Post-It notes and scribbled with arrows. A laptop flickered with Laina’s reports.

  Einar watched Michael for signs of instability. Things wouldn’t get out of control again. No obsessed partners running amok. Sleep had done him good. He was restless but functioning, eyes clear. No dark circles, no three-day shadow.

  “Quit staring, okay? Told you, I’m better.”

  “I know.”

  Michael shook his head.

  “Have to ask, now that you’ve regained perspective.” Einar paused. “Don’t get pissed. You’re okay for this case?”

  “Yes. I understand your concern. I’m alright.”

  “Just checking.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Sure?”

  “I’ll admit the monster thing has me unnerved.” He laid his hand over his heart. “But honest, I can do this.”

  “I believe you, with reservations. Second question. When were you going to tell Kait you’re investigating her boss?”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Meaning?” Einar rubbed his face with his hands. Why'd he insist on not letting others in? Stubbornness magnified.

  “She doesn’t need to know unless I find skeletons in his past.” He stabbed the pen on the table. “Don’t want to scare her.”

  Einar considered his response. “Forwarded your question to Laina. Haven’t heard back yet.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Tell Kait.”

  Michael sighed. “I get it. I’ll mention it. Let’s focus on this creep.”

  “Yes sir,” Einar gave him a mock salute.

  Michael rolled his eyes.

  “Okay. So, it kills on a path.” Einar scanned the crime reports. “Pattern in each case is identical.” Yeah. Stalking and killing executed with abandon. They needed serious weapons.

  Michael scrawled red Xs on the map. “Following a northern path along the river. Last site near the river split. Found stones beyond it, past Gates.”

  “Excavated remains suggest Nordic killers followed specific paths. Once they chose a body of water, they didn’t deviate.”

  “Stalks victims at water access points. Bet it never leaves the area along the river.” He tapped his pen on the table, echoes of a long ago percussion cadence. “Leaves talismans for someone to find. But who?” He continued tapping. “Are we dealing with more than one?” The pen never stopped.

  Einar laid his hand over Michael’s, quieting the pen. The survey map rolled shut. “Sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes.”

  Einar sighed. “Anyway . . . we’ve got our waterway.” He pushed the map aside. “Doesn’t switch course after choosing a source.”

  “Doesn’t backtrack. Hits, moves on.”

  “Needs brush cover and access where people gather.” Einar moved photos and pulled the topographic map closer. Narrowed his eyes. “Getting late in the season for that type of place. For people in the landscape. If, as Laina suggested, there’s a forty-day span—considering the Fitte and Volner girls as first victims—we’re nearing the end. It’s hungry, angry, and facing a deadline.” They were running out of time.

  “Immature demons. Flesh-eating creatures stalking prey.” Michael twisted the pen, pursing his lips. “Sounds surreal. It’s major league insane. Know that, right?”

  “Yes.” Einar nodded. “And you’re beginning to believe it.”

  “Shit. That’s the scariest part.”

  “Ekki fara brjálaður á mér. Don’t go crazy on me.”

  “Might be there.” Michael gla
nced at him. “I wonder.”

  Einar saw his bewilderment. But there they stood, discussing monsters. Michael hadn’t bolted, thrown things or told him to keep his creepy freak mouth shut—that’d been partner number three. In fact, Michael was the only cop he’d worked with who’d tried to open his mind to strange possibilities. His other partners would’ve bailed—in point of fact they did, the last one yelling that he needed psychological help. Michael deserved credit for absorbing and trying to process it on top of his lost brother, too personal connection to the region and the sheer brutal nature of the crimes. Confronting unfathomable truths turned worlds upside down. It was a lot to ask of anyone. When they caught the thing, he’d buy his young partner a case of the best damn Irish whiskey on the planet along with a year's supply of insect snacks.

  “Hey. Are you paying attention?”

  Einar blinked. He'd lost focus? Shit.

  Michael flipped pages to the floor and uncovered a county tourist map. Stabbed his pen. “Next spot. I’m sure. Bet on it.”

  Algonquin Alpine Resort on the west branch featured access with open shoreline and brushy cover. Families throughout the state enjoyed its cross-country ski trails, cozy cabins and rustic atmosphere. Fifteen ski trails, some for beginners and others for hard-core enthusiasts, bordered the river and paralleled smaller streams running into it. With major snows forecast in the next few days, the seasonal resort was soon to open. People would arrive by carloads, enjoying winter’s chill by traveling through snowy woods, gliding by small ice-covered creeks and swooshing near swift flowing water. The resort included river trails open into the evening lit by glittering electric lights.

  Prey for a starving creature on a schedule.

  Einar smiled. “Quality time in the cold outdoors. Mikey, do you ski yet?” He pantomimed downhill skiing. Knew Michael hated winter.

  “No. I’ll forever hate it. Doesn’t matter where I grew up. Wind, snow and winter sports. Hated them as a kid. I’ll feel the same way twenty years from now. You know that.”

  Einar laughed. “We’ll rent snowshoes.”

  “Good luck. Skis, snowshoes, luge, dog sled, whatever.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  “I’ll be miserable.”

  “Can’t wait to deal with your sunny disposition on this stakeout.” Einar dumped the materials in a cluttered stack. “Contact local jurisdiction and coordinate a schedule.”

  “Got it.” Michael pulled out his cell, looked up the number. “We’ll need assistance and vehicles.”