The world wasn’t what it seemed. Beneath the fa?ades of many humans lurked half demons bent on our destruction. They’re known as the Nephilim, the offspring of the fallen angels and the daughters of men.
They’ve been here since the beginning, glimpsed more often in times past when wolf men and women of smoke were commonplace and gave rise to the legends we now see most often on the screen at the Multiplex. Unless you’re me, and then they show up in your apartment.
My fingers wrapped around the hilt of the knife even as I stilled, waiting for the slight buzz that signaled evil creepy thing to wash over me. But it didn’t.
I sat on the edge of the mattress, eyes narrowing, ears straining, then I took a deep breath, and my skin prickled. The bed smelled of Sawyer—snow on the mountain, leaves on the wind, fire and smoke and heat.
“Dream my ass,” I muttered.
Downstairs, outside, there was a soft thud, then the scrape of something hard against the pavement. A shoe? A toe? A claw?
As I crossed the room, I could have sworn fur brushed my thigh. I glanced down but saw nothing but the flutter of the loose cotton shorts I’d worn to bed along with a worn and faded Milwaukee Brewers T-shirt.
An odd cry drew me to the window, where I kept to the side and out of sight. New moon and the sky was dark, the stars pale this close to the city. The single streetlight in Friedenburg revealed nothing but empty sidewalks and dark storefronts. Which meant nothing. Nephilim rarely used the front door. They didn’t have to.
Uneasy, I glanced up, but found only shadows on the rooftops. Of course those shadows could become anything.
“Psst. Kid.”
I kicked the cot shoved against the wall in the corner. My apartment was an efficiency located above a knick knack shop. I owned the building, rented out the first floor, and was considering renting out the second. I was rarely in town these days. The only reason I was here now was that I’d promised my best friend I’d attend her daughter’s ninth birthday party. I owed Megan so much, the least I could do was show up when she begged me to.
“Luther!” I nudged the cot again. I didn’t want to touch him if I didn’t have to.
I was psychometric. Had been since birth I assumed, since I couldn’t remember a time that I wasn’t able to touch people and see where they’d been, what they’d done. In the case of the Nephilim, I could see what they truly were. Or at least I could until recently. Now I had Luther for that.
“Wha—? Huh?” Luther rubbed at his face. His kinky golden-brown hair stuck out from his smooth brown skin even more than usual.
“Getting any bad guy vibes?” I asked.
I’ll give the kid credit; he woke right up. “No,” he said slowly, head tilted, hazel eyes narrowed.
“You sleep pretty deep.” From what I heard, most kids did, though Luther would say he was no longer a kid but a man.
He swore he was eighteen, but I had my doubts. Tall and gangly, Luther’s feet and hands were huge. Many Nephilim had believed Luther’s awkward appearance meant he was slow and clumsy. However, Luther moved as quickly and gracefully as the lion he could become.
The kid was a breed—the offspring of a Nephilim and a human. Being part demon gave him supernatural powers. Being less demon than human meant he could choose to fight on the side of good. A lot of breeds did.
“I’d hear Ruthie if she had somethin’ to say. Wouldn’t matter if I was sleeping or not.”
Ruthie Kane, my foster mother, had been the former leader of the light. Now I was. In the beginning, she’d spoken to me on the wind, in dreams, or in visions, to let me know what flavor of evil lay behind a Nephilim’s human face. Now she spoke through Luther. I had demon issues.
“There’s something out there,” I said.
Luther’s silver knife appeared in his hand as quickly as mine had. Silver kills most shifters, and if it doesn’t, it will at least slow them down.
“Ruthie talking to you again?” Luther was already making his way toward the door that led to the back stairs.
“No.” I paused to retrieve my gun and Luther’s from the nightstand—if a silver knife works well, a silver bullet works even better—then I hurried to catch up.
We tossed our knives on the kitchen table. The kid reached for the door, but I shouldered in front of him. Luther was a rookie. Not that I was much better. I’d been on the job less than four months. Still I was the leader, which meant I got to go through the door first.
In the past, a seer—someone with the psychic ability to recognize a Nephilim in human form—worked with several DKs, or demon killers. However, that arrangement had gone to hell when the Nephilim infiltrated the federation and wiped out three-quarters of the group. Now the remaining members pretty much did whatever they could. Seers became DKs, DKs became seers, and everyone killed anything that got in their way.