Everyone, human or supernatural, carried his past with him, like so much unwanted baggage. If a person was smart and self-aware, he lightened his load. But Lucy hadn't lightened her load at all, Val realized despondently as he hurried out of the Overbite Bar.
Shaking his head, he walked to his car. He had loved Lucy once, deeply and passionately, in spite of the fact that she had turned his undead life upside down with her accident-prone and chaotic lifestyle. Lucy was intelligent, passionate, and most of all she made him laugh. She had a bulldog determination in whatever she undertook, and an air of innocence about her that he had always found refreshing. He had loved to listen to her West Texas accent she couldn't quite get rid of, especially with words like "oil," "wash," and "nine." The way she slurred them out, she sounded like she was from another planet.
The first time Val met her had been at the Riverwalk in San Antonio. When she had fallen into the river, he had fallen hard. Later that night, they had danced to a golden oldie by Tony Orlando called "Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree," and Chicago's "Color My World." Those two songs became their songs.
Three weeks later they'd made love for the first time. The Eagles' "Take it to the Limit" had been playing, and their two pulses had beat in rhythm to the music and their dance of love as old as time. Val had taken them both to the limit, over and over, as the dark shades of evening faded to the grays and purples of darkest night. Lucy had been everything he ever imagined in a lover. Of course, she had also been fairly inexperienced.
Yes, Lucy had become his daydreams, and she had filled his nighttime with true happiness, a bon viveur he had not felt in over two hundred years.
On the downside, Lucy had always been argumentative, stubborn as a mule for someone not of the shape-shifter weremule set, suspicious, and immature. Her pride was almost as strong as his own. And the most daunting thing about her was that she hadn't outgrown her past. She probably never would.
The ringing of his cell phone captured his attention as he put his car into gear. Glancing down at the display, he noted it was his partner in the paranormal task forces. "What's up, Chris?"
Chris's husky voice drew him back from his dark thoughts about lost love. Christine was a vampiress, and had been his partner for over four years. She had once been a lover. In fact, her relationship with Val was what had sparked her interest in law enforcement. Christine had gotten her degree and become a police officer for the night shift back when women were still scarce in the force.
"What's happened?" he asked her.
"We got a dead one. Strange, Val. It's really strange," Chris said.
"Where at?" Val felt his face muscles tightening. If Christine said it was strange, that was a bad sign. As partners, they had seen some really gruesome murders, from deranged ghouls to rogue werewolves.
"Down at the French Quarter on Voodoo Lane, a block from Addams's Familiars."
Addams's Familiars was a favorite of the wizard and witch world, as well as with gargoyles who liked having something fuzzy to play with while in flesh form. Cats, frogs, bats, hamsters—any number of familiars were available at the store, in all shapes, sizes, and colors.
"You there now?" Val asked.
"Oui. Just got here and saw the body," Christine replied, her voice filled with tension.
"I'll be there in five," Val responded. He flipped off the phone. If Chris was this upset, something big, bad, and ugly had gone down tonight. Val knew, because he knew his partner. Even though they hadn't been lovers in over eighty years, he still cared about her and always would. She hadn't ever been the love of his life, but she always stood firm as a friend that he could count on. He owed Christine a lot, in spite of the fact that she was the vampiress Lucy had seen with him that ill-fated night four years ago.
Hurrying to the scene of the crime, he could see the yellow and black police tape billowing softly in the light wind. Val's nostrils dilated at the smell of garbage tinged with the hot sultry air of the Louisiana night. Beneath the putrid scent of rotting trash was a different smell of decay.
His partner was standing by the victim's body. Christine's skin was the color of creamed coffee, her lean, muscular body a stark contrast to the victim. The dead woman was older, her body curled into the fetal position, and she had heavily wrinkled skin on her face with eyes clouded white from age. The corpse had little muscle mass left in her legs and arms, and her skirt was hiked above bony hips. Underwear hung around her right ankle.
It was the expression on her face, mouth frozen in a scream of horror, which caused a wave of sympathy to sweep Val. Nobody should die in a dirty alley like this, left to rot like so much trash. And soon the victim would be just a number in the morgue. Val wondered what her last thoughts had been. The woman had been terribly afraid; he could still smell the emotion in the air.
Clenching his jaw, he surveyed the area and approached the victim. The scene showed signs of rough sex: bruises on the skin and ripped underclothes.
Kneeling, he studied the victim as dozens of scents filtered through his nose. Something supernatural had used this woman and destroyed her; Val could smell it in the scents of night, in a faint damp smell of the grave. He didn't believe a vampire had done this, but something with a similar smell—something probably a close relative to the Nosferatu species.
"A la fin! Welcome to the end," Val hissed, his dark blue eyes fierce. And, shaking his head, he turned away from the frozen scream and wide milky eyes of the corpse. "Who found the body?" he asked.
"Some kids. They were drinking pretty heavily and wandered outside to be sick."
Val nodded. "Coroner?"
Christine glanced down at her watch. "ETA is sometime in the next ten minutes." She turned back to the victim's corpse, sadly shaking her head. "She looks like she's been raped. Who would want to rape an old woman? And why is this old woman wearing red bikini briefs with lace hearts? And look at the old gal's shoes! Four-inch spiked heels? How can someone this frail even walk in them?"
Val shook his head. "The sex started out consensual, I think. And she smells like she's been dead maybe three hours. Not more than four."
Sniffing the air carefully, Christine concurred, her chocolate-brown eyes filled with worry. Lifting the victim's purse, she grabbed the wallet inside.
"What on earth could have done this?" she asked, glancing through the wallet.
"You mean what in hell," Val said savagely. Even after all the years he had lived, death was never a pretty sight. He knew it was never a welcome one for mortals.
"You think we're looking for some sort of demon work?" Christine asked.
Val shook his head.
"A traiteur voodoo?" Christine suggested, holding up the victim's driver's license. "Says here that her name is Caral Jones. She was only twenty-four. Damn, it looks like she got a reverse face-lift."
"Or something worse, much worse," Val agreed. He hated to see this waste. Life was precious, both human and paranormal. This young woman had once laughed, had probably strolled along the French Quarter in the morning, sitting at a cafe with a cup of chicory coffee and a plate of warm beignets. This woman had once loved and been held tenderly by someone who cherished her. Her hopes and potential were now gone forever, all taken by an act of cruel intention and insidious hunger. To stop things like this was why he'd joined the police.
"How was this done? If this is her license… how could she age to death this quickly?"
"With a lot of help from something otherworldly," Val replied. "Something real otherworldly. Something I thought was still sleeping, which was sleeping for over six centuries."
"What are you talking about? What did this? If it was black magic, then it's stronger than any I've ever seen."
Val lowered his head as he studied the body, replying tersely, "This isn't simple black magic, Chris. This was something feeding."
His partner looked incredulous. "Feeding? What feeds on youth?"
"An incubus. A Ka incubus to be exact."
"But I…" Chris hesitated, her confusion evident. "Incubi feed on lust, I thought. And there aren't many of them left."
Glancing back at his partner, Val nodded. "You're half right. Incubi who feed on lust are called Eros incubi. They're very old, and since they can't create more of themselves, they're a dying race. Maybe there are eleven left from the Old World. Those, supposedly, in Europe."
"Then what's a Ka? I've never heard of mem."
Val sighed, adding in a grim tone, "Not many know of their existence. They feed off youth, like the Eros feed off lust. There's only supposed to be three or four Kas left, and they have been sleeping the Big Sleep. Nobody knows where. It was rumored they were around the Ural Mountains. It appears the rumors are wrong," Val finished sardonically. He glanced down at the aged remains in front of him.
"Let me do some checking, and I'll get back with you on this," he said after a moment. If what he was thinking was true, then the Big Easy was in for a world of hurt. Incubi in general felt the world was their oyster. Kas liked to eat oysters raw. They were generally very intelligent, lusty, attractive, and cruel. And hungry. They were always very, very hungry.
Christine started to argue, but Val shook his head and started toward his car. "Look, I've got some research to do, and some calls to make to the League in Europe."
"The League of Vampires?" Christine asked, surprised. Val hated to ask for help, and especially from the League. They always required a favor for anything they did. Sometimes those favors had a decidedly nasty edge.
"Chris, use your paranormal contacts to check out the supernatural community, and see if there have been any more bodies that have aged at a rapid rate. I know there are no cases like this anywhere in New Orleans or even Louisiana, or we would have been contacted. But try out the Federal website for similar crimes and see if anything else is stirring."
Christine nodded and Val left, his thoughts in turmoil. If a Ka incubus was feeding in New Orleans, what a plentiful supply of food the monster had. Partygoers of every age, size, shape, and beauty, everyone was drinking and enjoying the good life, not realizing that paradise always, always, had a dark side, a cruel, ugly side.
Val cursed. The Big Easy was appropriately named.