Bad Wolf

9781483513812

Chapter One

You are so cynical, Serafina, Camille said.

I raised an eyebrow in an attempt to be wry and sarcastic. You are so idealistic.

Which was why she was an angel--albeit an angel of death--and I was a hunter of evil ghosts. We were hanging out in an old guy's bedroom, doing deathbed duty. She'd get the old man's soul if he went one way when his spirit left his body. I'd get him if he went the other way. She was pretending to be offended because I'd offered to make a bet with her about who'd reap him.

While it is true that most souls don't immediately go the evil ghost route, or need an AOD to show them the light for that matter, our future client was a special case. He was a very rich old guy, a media mogul who'd done a lot of harm and made a lot of money with the lies spread in his newspapers and television news stations. He'd ruined lives, and seduced millions of gullible folk into believing those lies, which did their souls no good. My own family had been affected negatively by him. But the Raiders having a personal beef with rich soon-to-be-dead guy wasn't why I'd drawn this assignment. Camille and I were both just experienced enough in the professions neither of us had chosen to draw this sort of low-end, low-risk assignment.

Soon-to-be-dead guy had also given away much of his fortune to charity in his old age in an attempt to buy his way into heaven. So, he lay on the huge bed in his mansion, hooked up to all sorts of portable medical equipment, surrounded by doctors, nurses, and relatives with a stake in the inheritance while a pair of semi-rookie supernatural bureaucrats waited a couple seconds in the future so that nobody else saw us, to help or destroy his soul as soon as it made the jump.

Rich guy's medical staff was very good, his last breath was a long time coming. I had no reverence for the sad event, only growing impatience, as I had an appointment that I had no intention of missing later in the day.

Maybe we should stuff a pillow over his head, I muttered.

He already has two grandsons considering it, Camille said.

I looked around with several of my senses and picked up all sorts of impatience and unpleasant intent from various of rich guy's relatives beneath their sad, solemn expressions. His youngest daughter, middle-aged now, was remembering how dad had sexually molested her when she was a kid. She was terrified he was faking his death so he could punish his family for their reactions when he sprang back to life. I really hated him now. And I'd learned far more than I wanted or needed to know. I pulled my senses back in and waited in silence with Camille.

My magic ninja sword appeared in my hands the moment the last breath rattled out of our client's throat. His soul didn't slither out of the husk for a few seconds. We had to wait a moment to see whether his essence took human or monster form. I held up my weapon. A circle of gold light appeared behind Camille.

Dead rich guy stood at the end of the bed, invisible to everyone but me and the AOD. For a moment he looked like a handsome young man, probably his image of himself. I thought that Camille had won the bet we hadn't made. Then he smiled, and his mouth kept getting wider, and the teeth sharper and longer. His laughter made a very ugly sound as he leapt forward toward his unseeing youngest daughter.

I was in front of him before he got to her. My sword slashed through him. The blade absorbed his tainted soul. The sword disappeared.

Job over. Time to go.

I had a funeral to attend.

Unfortunately, it wasn't a business appointment. A good mortal friend had committed suicide, and I wanted to be there for her one last time.

Chapter Two

Britney hadn't had a chance. I'd hoped so, but I'd been wrong. Maybe I should have killed her a few months back, but I couldn't. I just couldn't. Not that her death was my fault. I wasn't going there with the guilt. But I'd hoped she'd be strong enough to fight the monsters, the ghost as well as the horror of what the ghost drove her to do, off. I guess she did. It was the realization when she was free that drove her to jump out a fifth-story window.

Britney's family hadn't wanted our family at the funeral, but we hadn't paid any attention. We Raiders are a large, loud group. Colorful, is a good term. But we can be respectful and somber when the occasion warrants. We'd loved Britney and certainly been closer to her than her blood family during the last years of her life. She'd only been in her early thirties when she killed herself. She'd lived with my father for the last seven years. Believe me, her ability to deal with Kent Raider earned the admiration and love of the rowdy Raider clan. Until--well--until. A funeral is no place to have ill thoughts of the dead.

I allowed myself ill thoughts about the dozen or so tall, blond, straight-laced Lutheran folk eyeing us warily from the other side of the church. Not that they weren't mourning Britney as much as we were in their stoic way. I guess. They blamed us for the media circus of the damned waiting outside for us to leave the church, and I couldn't blame them for that. At least, I tried not to. These people knew nothing about Britney's world. Not the world of being a troubled rock star's girlfriend. Certainly not the world where an evil ghost tempted her into becoming a serial killer. I prayed they never found out the real reason Britney threw herself from that window. It was better to let them think she'd killed herself because Kent Raider had gotten her addicted to drugs and rehab hadn't helped. This certainly made more sense than the truth, but I hated that Dad was always seen in such a bad light. Even I'd looked at him that way until recently. Not that he was completely innocent or a total victim, no human being is. Especially the egotistical genius ones.

I sat next to him now, holding his hand. He has big, strong hands, with long musician's fingers. Those fingers were crushing mine at the moment, but I didn't complain or try to pull away. He needed me here and now and I was there for him. He was crying silently. Britney's fate hadn't been his fault, but he thought it was. My half-brother Aaron was on his other side, also holding Dad's hand. Aaron's an artist and I hoped his fingers would be okay. It's amazing how much my dad and brother look alike. Aaron could be the young Kent Raider just stepped off the cover of Raider's first CD. The family resemblance is strong in me, too. I have the same huge dark eyes. My skin's a bit fairer as my late mother was of German and Irish ancestry. My hair's dark, but wavy, where Dad and Aaron have black curls.

The casket before the altar was closed. I would have preferred Britney be cremated, but the choice wasn't mine.

One of Britney's male relatives gave a eulogy, speaking a lot of bland platitudes about someone I didn't know. After he was done Grandma Gita marched up front to have her say. Britney's family looked pained, but she glared them down. And glared at us until she had all our attention. Dad says he learned how to rule a stadium stage from her.

We've lost a child that was loved not only by my son, but by our entire family, she began.

I missed the rest, because suddenly there was a dog on my other side. Lizzie put her head in my lap and snuffled. She's a cynical bitch, but also the softest-hearted critter in the world. She'd been Britney's nurse and prison guard for the last several months. She'd slept on the end of Britney's bed--though how Lizzie manages to sleep on every inmate's bed at the Nursing Home of the Damned I don't know.

I knew she didn't want an affectionate fuss, so I patted her head and petted her but didn't try to cuddle her. If anyone was looking at me they saw me making weird gestures when I was actually comforting an invisible dog.

After a while, Lizzie said, You're wanted at Sanctuary. Which is the real name of the Nursing Home of the Damned. Then she was gone.

I couldn't exactly follow her. Phasing away in the middle of a crowd who knows you're there can be awkward. I wouldn't have minded, but instead I finished out the funeral and faced