Kait Ballenger - Midnight Hunter

“Do you expect to need the gun?” Vera nodded toward the weapon on his belt.

Shane replaced his weapons bag in the back of the car before he opened his door. “No, I’m not expecting to, but I’ve learned during my time with the Execution Underground that you can never be too prepared.”

They both exited the vehicle. Yellow police tape distinguished the correct door when they reached the third-floor landing.

Shane tried the handle, unsurprised to find it locked. He sighed. “Shit. I forgot my lock pick in the car.”

Vera waved her hand in dismissal. “Step aside.” Placing her palm over the keyhole, she muttered a few words under her breath as purple light flashed from her hand. A small click sounded and the door popped open. Vera stepped aside, clearing the way for Shane to go first.

He raised an eyebrow. “A spell for breaking and entering?”

She shrugged. “What? You really thought black magic was the only slightly felonious activity I’ve participated in during my lifetime?”

Shane ducked underneath the tape. “Honestly, the extent of what I know about your file is that the Execution Underground detained you for black-magic use. I’ve never looked any further than that.”

She followed him underneath the tape, then stopped behind him. “Well, don’t bother looking. It was a stupid decision I’d rather keep buried.” She closed the door.

Shane surveyed the room in front of him. A slightly overstuffed Lay-Z-Boy and a small side table with a lamp sat facing a large flat-screen television. A small love seat, which appeared to have seen little use and looked as if it had been purchased straight out of a newspaper circular, stood against one wall. Hanging on another wall was a photo, presumably of the happy couple, showing a round-bellied Mr. Foley sitting with his feet propped up in the chair, the TV remote in one hand and a can of Budweiser in the other, his slender wife perched across the arm of the chair with her arms around his neck. She smiled toward the camera. He didn’t.

“This doesn’t look much like a crime scene,” Vera said. “Just an unoccupied living room.”

Shane nodded toward the hall. “That’s because Mr. Foley was found stabbed to death in his bed with a cheap kitchen knife. The only prints they found on the knife were his own and, oddly enough, Mrs. Foley’s.”

Vera shivered. “That’s so fucking creepy. How could her prints be on the knife?”

Shane walked toward the semi-dark hallway. “Mr. Foley didn’t exactly appear to be the type of man who would bother to cook himself a nice homemade dinner after his wife died. I could be wrong, but my guess was that whoever killed him wore gloves, and the knives just hadn’t been cleaned since his wife died.”

Vera frowned. “Gross.”

Shane stepped slowly through the hall, examining the floor for any stray fibers, herbs or possible leftovers from a black-magic ritual, signs the Rochester CSU wouldn’t have noticed or had otherwise written off as too unimportant to include in their report. When he reached the room at the end of the hall—which, based on its placement directly next to the bathroom, was likely the master bedroom—he paused. Light crept out from underneath the door, as if one of the policemen who had previously scoured the scene had left a lamp on. He pushed open the door.

The “Holy fuck!” that escaped his lips didn’t even begin to cover it.

He drew the Walther PPK and aimed. Atop the bloody mattress sat a woman who he immediately recognized as Mrs. Foley, and by Mrs. Foley he didn’t mean the corpse she should have been. Oh, no. Mrs. Foley looked exactly like she had in life, only with no color to her face and a flat dead look in her eyes because, well...she was fucking dead.

Her head snapped toward them. Vera let out a string of screamed profanities that would have impressed a sailor. Shane didn’t think. He squeezed the trigger off several times, aiming directly at Mrs. Foley’s head. His shots hit the dead woman point-blank in the forehead. Her body jerked with each impact. Blood and brain matter spattered onto the already-blood-soaked bed behind her. She fell back onto the mattress, twitching.

Shane released a long breath. Adrenaline filled his veins like a live wire. Holy shit. This was...

Mrs. Foley sat upright again, looking even more gruesome and disturbing than before. “This is for all the times you sat on your ass, Ted.” She lunged toward Shane as she spoke.

Shane repositioned his gun and fired. The bullet sailed straight into her chest, but that didn’t deter her. She tackled him full-on, with the power only someone who wasn’t concerned about pain was capable of. He toppled to the ground with Mrs. Foley on top of him as she attempted to claw his face with her fingernails.

“Every time I cooked you dinner, you never appreciated it, Ted!” she shrieked into Shane’s face. Her breath smelled like death warmed over.

Shane punched her in the jaw. It popped out of its socket, only to correct itself a moment later. Shit. He was fighting a battle he just couldn’t win. Using all his weight, he flipped the two of them over until he was on top. He slammed his fist into her face over and over again. Blood spattered onto his shirt from Mrs. Foley’s nose. The bones of her face broke as he hit her with blow after blow, then healed moments later.

“Vera,” he grunted through the hits. “Get me a...” He looked up, only to find Vera had disappeared. Shit.

That brief moment gave dead Mrs. Foley the advantage she needed. She popped him in the jaw with her small fist as she writhed out from underneath him. Not a strong enough punch that he saw stars, but enough to give him pause. Mrs. Foley scrambled to her feet.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Shane kicked the monster’s legs out from underneath her, and she toppled to the ground again. Diving behind her, Shane wrapped his right arm around her neck in a choke hold. She struggled and bucked against him.

“I hate you, Ted. I hate you!” she screeched. “You never gave me everything you promised. You lied to me.” She kicked and flailed, fighting against his hold.

Vera burst into the room, a large carving knife clutched in her hand.

Thatta girl.

“Try her heart,” Shane ground out through clenched teeth. The dead woman bucked against him.

Vera stepped forward, positioning herself over the woman. “I don’t think I can do it, Shane.” Her hands shook.

“Give me... Shit,” he swore as the back of Mrs. Foley’s head collided with his nose. A warm trickle of blood poured from his left nostril. He extended his free hand. Vera held out the carving knife, and he snatched it from her. He stabbed the blade straight into Mrs. Foley’s chest with a resounding roar. Bright red arterial blood squirted onto the wall, but the corpse continued fighting.

Vera screamed. Shane wrenched the knife out of Mrs. Foley’s chest and plunged the blade in again, only vaguely aware of the pulsating purple light emanating from Vera’s palms. A moment later Mrs. Foley’s body seized. Then her dead weight slumped against his chest.

Shane looked up, clothes and face covered in blood. Vera was standing completely still, the light from her palms dimming to a slow burn. “I...I...only stunned her,” she gasped.

Shit. That meant Mrs. Foley would sit up again any minute now. Shane swore. Only one sure way to kill any supernatural.

“Vera, look away.”

Her eyes widened until she looked like a cartoon character while she stared down at him. “Wh-what?”

“Look away! Leave the fucking room, goddamn it!”

She scrambled for the door and out into the hallway. Lifting the carving knife to Mrs. Foley’s throat, he sawed the blade against her neck. Dead or not, the sight of the blood and the sounds of her gurgling seared their way into his memory like a blazing-hot brand. When he had finished, he dropped the knife to his side and collapsed in a tired heap on the floor.