I'll Kill You Later

I’LL KILL YOU LATER

~A Shadow Hunter Novel~

Gloria Esquerra

rev. 5.20.2015

The Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2015 Gloria Esquerra

Note: to provide the reader with more of a sample from the actual story, most of the traditional front matter and Table of Contents appears at the end.

Life is not separate from death. It only looks that way.

~Blackfoot proverb

Prologue

There’s a noticeable difference in scents between fiends who consume only human blood and fiends who consume both human blood and human flesh. The difference is in the telltale odor these creatures expel. True blood drinkers exude a rather sweet, if not disgusting, metallic smell. I supposed that comes from always having to resupply their vile needs with fresh blood of the living. Monsters who take in not only human blood but human flesh excrete a putrid stench, as if the corpse of the devoured victim is never truly digested. It continues its decomposition inside the monster, the rotting stink streaming out of the evil being who committed the diabolical deed. Shadow hunters can detect these differences, which is fortuitous, for they hunt and destroy these unnatural predators. I am Ryder Jae, hunter of these horrid things that have abandoned the shadowy path that lies between the realms of light and dark to enter our world to commit monstrous deeds. Armed with a Sig Sauer semi-automatic, a Bowie Tactical-knife, ashes of such abominations purified by fire and sacred ceremony and the blessed stones of the four corners of creation entrusted to me by our holy men, like all shadow hunters, I follow the scent trail of those things that must be destroyed.

Chapter One

Sedona, Arizona.

Beautiful.

Mystical.

And humming with paranormal activity.

Disembodied voices of disquieted spirits coiled around me like wispy phantom fingers as I descended into Oak Creek Canyon by way of 89A. The ghostly distractions were minimal, and not unusual. Spirits tend to wait around corners for me. But the drop into scenic hell took me by surprise. I hadn’t expected a grade so steep, a road so narrow and twisting. Around every twist and bend, terrifying drop-offs plummeted hundreds of feet down to where only death or paralysis waited. Traffic moved at a snail’s pace. A convoy of five lumbering RVs back up cars for miles. Although frustrating, the crawling descent gave me the opportunity to take in the canyon that was to be my hunting ground for the next few days.

Breathtaking, yet eerie. Magnificent red-rock formations stretched on for as far as the eye could see. Bizarre pinnacles that somehow seemed alive towered over the landscape. The place gave me goose bumps and a feeling of being watched rushed over me. Were these pinnacles supernatural guardians frozen in crimson robes of stone? Waiting the return of the ancient ones who one profound day walked out of the land of the living and into the ethereal mist of time and into another dimension?

Siri, the mysterious ghost dog who rides shotgun with me, stared pointedly out at the sandstone spires as we wove our way through the Red Rock Country of Oak Creek Canyon and into Sedona.

They’re out there. I spoke as if she didn’t already know that. "Lots of them. I sense them curious. Like they’re wondering who we are and why we’re here. Jeez, this place is a little too spooky."

The ghost dog maintained her outward stare. I wondered if she was tracking some entity I wasn’t sensing. Perhaps she was on the trail of the being I was sent here to destroy—a corpse feeder. Corpse feeders are exactly what their name implies, horrid creatures who sustain their physical presence and powers by feeding on the remains of the dead. It is believed that when desperate, they even cause death. Thompson Narvarro, the man who put out a call for help, said that graves were being rifled right and left, funeral parlors reported bodies being stolen, even the city morgue had a cadaver or two hijacked out of their cold-storage compartments, and a couple of tourist-hikers had recently vanished without a trace. The serenity and warm glow of this magnificent place was gradually going dark, Narvarro had stated. They needed help, and so who was lucky enough to be assigned the job of changing the light bulb? Me! Friggin’ awesome! Still, I guess it could be worse. I could be tracking hideous monsters roaming Death Valley.

A Safeway grocery store came up. I made a quick turn into the store’s parking lot, jumped out, and went in to purchase bottles of water, some fruit, a couple of energy bars, a package of trail mix, a box of Corn Pops, a quart of milk, and two packs of sugarless bubble gum. When I returned to the truck, the ghost dog was gone. No worries. Siri comes and goes as she pleases. I rolled the Ford’s engine over and continued down the road to a Subway, where I picked up one of their club sandwiches and a large salad. Back in the truck, I executed a U-turn and proceeded to the 179 and the Red Canyon Chateau, where I was booked for the next five nights.

The Red Canyon Chateau is a luxury B&B that came highly recommended by one of Cody’s cop buddies. Cody Lonewolf is a detective with the Santa Fe Police Department, and one of three retired Rangers who make up my support team. The other two Rangers are Maxwell Kidd and my brother, Joaquin Lee. I pulled into the Chateau’s parking lot, checked in, and was escorted to suite called the Vista. The Vista stands alone on a gentle treed hill. Three other luxury suites rest at the bottom of the hill. The interior of the Vista is beautiful; all warm earth tones that matched the spectacular view offered by the private balcony that runs the length of the northeast wall. A small but full kitchen was at my disposal, along with my own personal Jacuzzi. I placed the quart of milk, bottles of water, the sub, and salad into the refrigerator, and then went to take a shower. I had been on the road for little over eight hours.

I left my brother’s home in Santa Fe, New Mexico, just after sunrise. All three Rangers were on hand to give me last minutes instructions and to remind me to stay sharp and alert to all dangers. And out of trouble unrelated to my mission.

Max was the most vocal of the three. He always is.

There’s a vampire out there who has your name tattooed on his hell-bound soul, Jae. Remember that, he said, his hands doing a final check of my weapons. Never let your guard down. Monitor your surroundings incessantly. Too many damn fiends and mortal bastards slinking around out there want you dead. Understood?

Yes, Max, I had answered.

Max looked around. Where’s the blow gun we constructed? I don’t see it in here.

I complained. It’s tucked in the truck’s glove compartment. That thing scares me, Max. What if I prick myself accidently with one of those poisoned tips? What if, in a moment of panic, I suck in instead of blowing out? Seriously, I think I need more than few hours of practice with the dart gun.

Cody Lonewolf laughed. He stood next to the coffee maker, pouring himself a cup of the hot brew.

Don’t do either of those things and you’ll be fine, Max assured me. Only I wasn’t reassured. Max had constructed the blow gun, not we, and had come up with the poison-ash compound with his chemist buddy, which was applied to six broadhead-metal points. We had tried them out on a few wild rabbits with some luck. Three out of five was pretty good, Max said. I had felt terrible about killing the rabbits and we’d gotten into a big old argument about it. But Max didn’t relent. If the opportunity arose, I was to try it out on a vampire. I had no problem there.

Max rolled on. "It’s another weapon in your arsenal that could possibly save your life. And always, always, keep the GPS Tracker on you. Don’t go getting careless and forgetting it when you change outfits or go out. You may not have the luxury of a second chance. We need you on the radar at all times, Jae, for possible extrication, and just for our own sanity. "

I know, Max.

The tall, handsome Ranger closed my gun bag, stood up straight, and looked me in the eye. I don’t know what the hell I’m saying right now, Jae. Look at me. I’m all tensed up and carrying on like a witless mother hen. I hate this part of the job!

Cody set the coffee mug down on the counter. She’ll be alright, Max.

I wish you could guarantee that, Cody, Max said. He turned at the sound of my truck being driven to the front of the house. Time to go, hon.

Max grabbed my gun bag and I grabbed my backpack. I walked out of the house and into the early morning with Max’s arm draped protectively over my shoulder.

The pines enveloping my brother’s property whispered in a gentle breeze. I thought of the stunning vampire I had destroyed only weeks ago, and felt a fleeting pang of sorrow. I sniffed the air. His scent still lingered, but the brilliant pulsars that always warned me of his close proximity were gone. I wondered why I should still be detecting his scent. Didn’t everything about vampires just vaporize when they were set ablaze? Apparently not.

Let me have your bag, Jae. Max took my backpack and carried it and my gun bag to the Ford.

Cody wrapped me in a tight hug. Everything Max said goes double for me, Jae. Be careful. Call me when you cross into Arizona. I’ll have some HP buddies keep an eye out for you. I love you, Sister.

I love you too, Cody. Watch J’s back for me. I said, and then went to embrace Max. I’ll see you in five weeks, Max. I love you.

Max dropped a kiss on top of my head. Stay alive, Warrior Girl, just stay alive. And call when you cross into Arizona.

My brother waited by the truck for me, the driver’s door open. Cody and Max stepped back as I turned to go to him.

Joaquin’s hands gripped my shoulders as he looked directly into my eyes. He spoke in Korean. Remember everything you have been taught, Jae. Keep Dad’s words close to your heart. Stay focused, stay aware of your surroundings, and stay balanced, and keep your promise to honor the rules we’ve given you.

I will, I replied back in Korean. I’ll call you in a couple of hours.

I love you, Jae. Give Kia a call later on.

I hugged my brother fiercely. I intended to. Remember, you’re targeted too, so be careful yourself. I need you.

With that I had hit the road. It’s pretty much a straight shot from Santa Fe, New Mexico, to Sedona, Arizona, and I would have arrived here much sooner, but a six-car pile-up outside Holbrook kept a whole slew of us idling for close to two hours. At first, a wave of paranoia had me convinced that the wreck was a diabolic setup by Le Rachat du Fichu, a dark fanatic vampire-worshiping cult hell bent on killing me. A boxing in, a slow drive-by, a clip emptied into my truck, and an exit plan with a fast getaway. Or maybe an assassin would just saunter up to my idling truck and use a semiautomatic to make Swiss cheese out of me. The Sig Sauer semi-automatic stayed close at hand, my eyes constantly checked the mirrors, and the gear shift stayed in Drive. I was stopped in the outside lane and I made darn sure I kept enough space between me and the Nissan Pathfinder in front of me so that if I needed to haul ass out of there, I could. My plan was simple: burn rubber down the dirt shoulder to where the cops were, and maybe keep on truckin’ pass them. But the pile-up turned out to be just that, an accident. It was still early afternoon, and there was still plenty of time for me to go exploring. I spread open the map of Sedona on the counter and studied it while eating half the sub.

Schnebly Hills Road was where I needed to go. The road would take me high up in the mountains to a place that gave a good view of Sedona from a distance. I checked the Sedona guide book I had picked up at the front desk. The place I was looking at was a rock formation dubbed the Merry-Go-Round. I figured I could get a good feel of the area from there. I highlighted the road in yellow, then folded up the map, collected the guide book, and stuffed them both into my backpack, right along with a bag of trail mix, a couple bottles of water, gum, and two apples. Firm apples are a good way to brush your teeth when you don’t want to carry around a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. I’m kinda fanatic about brushing my teeth. And you can blame that OCD ritual on the vampire who fed on my sister, Mirrae. The image of her blood dripping from his fangs is as fresh today as the moment the vision dropped me to my knees.

I called Joaquin to tell him of my plans to explore the high country when the room phone rang. I told Joaquin to hold on.

Yes?

Your rental is here.

I’ll be down to get the keys. Thanks, I said, and hung up.

I returned to Joaquin. The Jeep is here. I’m going up a road called Schnebly Hills. It appears to go pretty high up in the mountains so I don’t know if I’ll have cell access. If I do, I’ll call. This place is super active, J, but I haven’t sense anything malevolent yet.

You sound excited.

I laughed. I am. The road looks to be a challenge. It’s labeled ‘dirt’ and ‘rugged’ in the literature.

Don’t be reckless, Jae, and be back to your room before nightfall. Figure things out before you engage in any nighttime hunting, my brother reminded me. Make sure you have the GPS on you. We can keep track of you that way. Stay alert.

I will.

I dropped an extra magazine into the pocket of my jacket, checked my gun, and then went to collect the keys from the front desk. An army-green, 2-door Jeep Wrangler waited outside for me. I piled into it and drove to my truck. From the Ford, I gathered a flashlight, binoculars, and my small survival kit, and jumped back into the Jeep. I didn’t take the blow gun. The tank was full, ear plugs were in my ears, and Dashboard was pouring out of the iPod. I popped a square of sugarless bubble gum into my mouth and headed out. Without the ghost dog.

Schnebly Hills Road is an adrenalin rush. The dirt road is rutted and climbs to the summit of the Mogollon Rim through a series of fantastic switchbacks. The Jeep took the climb easily. I turned off the iPod so that I could concentrate on familiarizing myself with every zig and every zag of the road. It’s always wise to plan ahead for what might come later, and with my lousy luck, something bad was probably already heading my way. And besides, Metallica just didn’t seem to go with the serenity of the beautiful environment.

As I closed in on the Merry-Go-Round and the summit, I caught a glimpse of a cutoff concealed by trees. I figured this would be a good place to hide the Jeep. It wasn’t traffic, or theft, I was concerned about. Only four vehicles on their way down passed me, and those were all from a Jeep touring company. I don’t fear the common lowlifes all that much. I fear the monsters out there who want me dead. Mortals and immortal monsters who are hunting me like I’m some game animal. So I’m paranoid. I’m always looking over my shoulder for dangers, and I’m continuously assessing situations and people I encounter.

I took the Jeep off the road, drove to an illegal spot that would shield the vehicle from the eyes of any passersby, and disembarked. Grabbing what I needed, I headed for the Merry-Go-Round. It was farther away than I had reckoned, but the view and advantage point were well worth the hike once I got there.

I scaled the rock formation to a higher, smaller shelf a short way up, and leaned backed against the sheer wall to observe and listen. Haunting whispers of spirits flowed around me. The murmurings were more benign than dark, and all unintelligible. Laughter of ghost children carried on a current of air echoed eerily through the red canyons, and I was positive I heard the soft mournful sounds of a reed flute. I thought of the prehistoric Indians who had lived here thousands of years ago, and who had seemingly disappeared into thin air. If I visited one of the ancient cliff dwellings left behind, would I hear these voices? Would I again hear the flute? I’d never know. These grounds are hallowed. To walk there is to disrespect the souls and remains of those who stayed behind.

There’s a song Cody likes. He had me listen to it one night when we were driving to Idaho Falls for a Tae Kwon Do tournament he was to ref. It’s not a happy song, but the laughter of the ghost children and the liquid notes of the reed flute brought it to mind. Robert Mirabal sings it. I think he wrote it, too. I know it is he who plays the flute on the track. The song is titled Little Indians. It’s somewhere on my playlist.

I sat there for close to an hour, holding my breath in reverent silence, absorbing the strong spiritual energy that swirled through the canyon and around the towering sandstone pinnacles and crested buttes. As time slipped by, the spirits went quiet, and I felt it okay to now call my brother. I brought out my cell phone and pressed 2. Surprisingly, the call went through. Maybe that was because I was high up enough for the signal to get through and the town was visible in the far distance.

Joaquin picked up on the first ring. I was beginning to worry, Jae.

"J, you can’t believe how active this place is. It’s really kind of spooky. I’m sitting high up in the mountains on a rock shelf and I can see out for miles and miles. Weird rock formations are everywhere. Huge, huge pinnacles with sheer walls. I swear they look like eerie sentinels standing guard, like they’re waiting for the ancient ones, those Sinagua people, to return. And the whole scene is bathed in crimson and rust. It’s beautiful, surreal. We need to come back here on vacation. I think Kia would really like this place."

I don’t think my wife is into spooky and eerie, Jae.

She’s not sensitive, Joaquin, so she wouldn’t feel these things. It’s stunning here, and serene… well, except for ghostly chatter. It’s a hiker’s paradise, really. Lots and lots of places to explore.

Do you sense anything dark moving in the vicinity?

I stood up and twisted around. No, not yet. When I get back to my room, I’ll contact Mr. Narvarro and hear what he has to say. I’m supposed to call Cody after I’ve talk with him.

Okay. You heading back down now?

I looked up at the blue sky. White clouds sailed invisible highways. There’s about three hours of good daylight left. I’ll head down shortly.

Give me a call when you get back. I’ll sleep easy knowing you’re safe.

Safe, J?

Relatively speaking. Be careful.

Bye, Joaquin.

I stretched, and inhaled the cool air. I reached down for a bottle of water, and brought it up to my lips. My cell chimed a call. I drank first, then checked the screen. Tag Kidd. Great.

Taggart Kidd is Max’s nineteen–year-old, college drop-out nephew, and like his uncle, Tag is kickass handsome. He’s cocky, annoying, and too inquisitive for his own good. As far as the ladies go, he probably can get just about any girl he wants, and he knows it, but he has a clear preference for beautiful blondes.

Hi, Ta…

What the hell, Jae? You couldn’t have called to let me know you were leaving town? Tag’s anger came through my cell phone loud and clear.

I rolled my eyes. It was a spur of the moment decision…

Anytime between that spur of the moment and now, did it cross your mind to give me a call?

I chose to ignore his ranting. Guess where I’m at? I said, enthusiastically.

How the hell would I know that? I didn’t even know you were gone until I called Max and he told me.

I’m high up on a mountain that overlooks the town of Sedona. The view is spectacular.

Who the fuck cares? Why didn’t you call me? Why did you have to leave in the first place?

Whoa, take a breath, Tag, I suggested. I don’t owe you an explanation.

You were in Santa Fe for five days, Jae. Two of those days, I didn’t even know you were in town, and when I did see you it was only in passing—

Yeah, you were passing by with your blond girlfriend.

She’s not my girlfriend.

I laughed. You were holding hands and kissing. Give me a break!

She’s not my girlfriend. She’s just someone—

Like you said, who effin’ cares? I said angrily, because I did care, and I knew I shouldn’t. It hurt to see him walking the mall with a pretty girl’s hand wrapped in his, his lips occasionally grazing hers. There’s nothing going on between Tag and me, but the last time we were together, chemistry flowed, and I guess I had been indulging in a little fantasizing. I thought, misguidedly so, that just maybe the man woke up in the morning and fell asleep with me on his mind. But I should have known. Tag is who he is—a major league player. And I’m not a blonde.

Is that jealousy I hear?

I was falling into the playboy’s trap. I sighed. Whatever. Why did you call, Tag?

I had plans for us, Babe. He sounded genuine.

Babe? Tag is good at playing this game, and I am inexperienced, but I was curious to know what his brain was cooking up. What kind of plans?

The other end went silent.

Tag?

He hesitated, and cleared his throat. I wanted us to drive up to Taos, to the place where we were attacked, and check it out. I’ve been having nightmares about that night—

A chill raised the hair on the back of my neck. Tag had been attacked by a hideous shape shifter and had almost died. I had destroyed the monster and when Tag had regained consciousness, I had lied and told him we had been set-upon by a gang of thugs. I thought he had bought the explanation.

Nightmares?

Maybe not nightmares, precisely. More like flashes of something dark and splotchy. I never see the face. Tell you the truth, I don’t think I want to. Whatever I think I’m seeing terrifies the shit out of me.

You took a good whack on the head, you know. I said, hopefully. You’re not fully recovered, Tag. Maybe you need to go get an MRI.

I don’t need an MRI.

Dude, you probably do. Your brain got scrambled and well... it sounds like you’re hallucinating.

Nightmares are not hallucinations, Jae.

Brain malfunction, then. Misfiring synapses, or something. You never know. Seriously, go see a doctor.

Tag went quiet.

What? I said, after a moment of waiting for him to speak.

I never found a lump on my head, Jae. Not even a hint of one. And you’re trying too hard to convince me that I received some kind of head injury—

Because you did.

Do you want to know what I think?

I didn’t cave your head in, Tag, if that’s what you’re going to say.

No, but I wouldn’t put something like that past you.

Thank you.

Don’t try sidetracking me, Jae. It’s not going to work. I don’t think you’re at all surprised to be hearing about these nightmares I’m having. Why are you trying to convince me that I received a head injury, when you and I both know damn good and well I didn’t? What are you keeping from me?

Damn. "Oh, here we go again with your suspicions. Look, Tag, I’m worried about your health. Go get your head x-rayed. You can’t play around with injuries like this." I spoke in a rush.

Cracked ribs, some severe body bruising, but no lump on the head. Not even a little one.

You had a severe concussion— A vehicle was grinding slowly down from the rim on Schnebly Road. I listened intently as the sound of its engine increased in intensity.

Jae?

The vehicle came to a stop way closer to the Merry-Go-Round than where I had parked the Jeep. A sense of danger washed over me.

Gotta go! I said hurriedly. I grabbed my backpack and slung it over a shoulder.

What’s wrong?

I hear a car.

You hear a car?

I’m alone on a mountain top. The occupants of the vehicle could be anybody.

Tag exploded. "This is what I’m talking about—"

Gotta go.

Dammit, Jae—

I snapped the cell shut, slid down the sheer rock on the seat of my jeans, and hit the ground running. I raced away from the sound of vehicle, circling the huge rock formation the opposite way from which I had come, and climbed to higher ground where the trees grew denser and I’d have a vantage point and a hiding place. I muted my cell, which was already chiming out a call—Tag, no doubt—and then rested my hand on the handle of my holstered gun as I hunkered down behind some piñons to wait and listen. Except for my labored breathing, silence reigned. I stayed rock still for several minutes, straining my ears and eyes for any little sound or movement. Some moments later, male voices drifted on the wind. At least two of them, and they were moving down slope, into the canyon. Hikers, I thought, but I was wary. Last time I was on a mission, a few mortals had tried to murder me and had nearly succeeded. The two men were moving away from me, but for all I knew, they could be decoys. There could be others out there in the trees, just waiting for me to show myself.

I listened for sounds of falling footsteps, of earth being disturbed, and I waited until the voices moving away became faint drones before I eased out of hiding and began retracing my steps back to the front of the Merry-Go-Round. Staying low and keeping to the piñons and junipers, I crept back to the lower ledge of the sandstone formation, hauled out the field glasses, and looked out over the canyons. I picked up the hikers. They hefted backpacks and carried hiking sticks in their hands. They were descending quickly, and often disappeared behind thick plant life and into the depths of smaller canyons. I would have accepted them for what they appeared to be, just outdoors men exploring the