Page 36 of Dead Beat

“What are you going to do?” Alex asked.

“Something I’d prefer you didn’t see.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to fear me.”

Kittscher’s lips twitched. “Are we playing good cop, bad cop?”

“We left the cop at home,” said Darlington. “Alex?”

Alex glanced between Kittscher and Darlington then made her choice. “Call if you need me.”

But she waited in the hallway, her curiosity getting the best of her.

Darlington walked to the kitchen and took a sponge from the sink. He pulled a vial from his pocket, dousing it in salt water.

In their research they’d found a thesis written in the late 1700s in Auvergne, France, that posited the myth around holy water being used against vampires was really just the demon’s response to the purging effects of simple salt water.

“What is it you plan to do?” said Kittscher. “I don’t fear pain. Chop off my head. Drive a stake through my heart. I’ll go to hell and maybe I’ll slip back through with Golgarot’s armies. Don’t expect me to be afraid.”

Darlington returned to stand before Rudolph Kittscher in his stolen form.

“I don’t think we’ve properly met,” he said, his golden horns emerging, voice mild, though the demon growl lay just beneath the words.

Kittscher lost his smug smile.

“I wasn’t just a pilgrim,” Darlington continued. “I wasn’t just passing through. Hell was my home, Golgarot my liege lord, and I his faithful servant. Queaque ipsa miserrima vidi … I’m sure you know the rest.”

Now Kittscher started to writhe in his bonds.

“I see we’re beginning to understand each other. I didn’t like torture at first. I had hold of my human self. My noble sentiments, as you might describe them. I was shamed by what was asked of me until slowly the shame was eaten away. I have excelled at everything in my life, and I excelled at this too. I was one of the best of Golgarot’s torturers.” He tugged hard on Kittscher’s curls, forced his head back, holding the dripping sponge above the demon’s eyes. “I learned it was best to work from the outside in.”

Kittscher’s screams followed Alex down the hall.

14

In the room at the end of the hall with only the narrowest view of the sea, Dawes sat beside Theo. Her freckles looked stark against her skin, and her eyes had a shine to them. She was struggling not to cry. Dawes wanted to offer comfort, but Alex wasn’t sure what comfort was left to this man.

“We found his coat,” Dawes said. “His things. His name is Theo Alonto. He’s twenty-six years old. He’s been here … He’s been here for almost two years.”

Kittscher had been draining him slowly. It’s important to enjoy your work.

“I don’t get it,” Tripp said softly. “Wouldn’t someone notice he went missing?”

“He didn’t go missing,” Alex said. “That was the trick Kittscher played, that he kept playing. He took Theo’s life, slid right into it, visited family and friends, answered texts. When he finds a new victim, maybe another caregiver, or someone from the neighborhood, or just some dumb mark who came to check the gas meter, then he tells everyone he’s moving on or he landed a job in San Francisco or something.”

Theo’s glassy eyes watched her, and he gave the faintest nod.

“I got him to take a few sips of water,” said Dawes.

“Has he spoken?”

“Only a couple of words. It’s painful, I think.”

Again, that faint nod.

A high shrieking wail reached them from the other room. It was abruptly cut off, and Alex suspected Darlington had gagged Kittscher or found some other way to silence him. They didn’t need neighbors calling the police. She knew she was supposed to be horrified, disgusted, maybe frightened. And maybe she was a little scared. Darlington’s demon was unpredictable. But mostly she was grateful. This time someone else would do the hard thing.