Chapter 2
Two
It was dawn and Detective Chief Inspector Nathaniel Michaels hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours. Neither had his team. He could see that caffeine wasn’t touching the nagging fatigue behind their eyeballs, nor the overwhelming sense of dread that hung over the department.
Last night, the latest victim of the Thames Ripper case had been discovered under Hammersmith Bridge, which meant that no one was going home anytime soon. This was the fourth incident in as many weeks, and the murder team was no closer to finding the perpetrator.
The media resurrected the phrase ‘ Ripper ’ after details of the horrific injuries inflicted on the victims had leaked to the press. Now there was a permanent encampment of TV crews sitting outside the police station, waiting for any chance of an interview. His superintendent spent most of his time trying to keep them pacified. Which meant Michaels and his team were left pretty much to their own devices.
Everyone had their own theory on the identity of the Ripper. The popular opinion on social media swayed between the husband of the first victim and a conspiracy theory that involved the Freemasons. Neither was close. In fact, the truth was far more fantastical than anything they could imagine.
Michaels knew this particular Ripper’s identity perfectly well, just as he had done back in 1888.
Unlike the unfortunate prostitutes of the Victorian slums, this most recent prey was a forty-three-year-old male. James Mallory had been a warehouse supervisor with a wife, two kids, and a secret penchant for young boys.
But it wasn’t his fault. Mallory was the unwilling host to a dybbuk.
Just as with the other recent victims, he’d been possessed. His soul corrupted by an ancient evil, known as a dybbuk, or demon to the uninitiated. Michaels had spent thousands of years fighting them. They were a cancer that relentlessly preyed on humanity.
It was Michael's job to extract them before they caused too much damage, but it was a job he did not do alone. The Reaver had to kill the host first.
Not only did Michaels know exactly who’d killed Mallory, but he would do everything in his power to keep their identity a secret.
“Hey, have you seen the CCTV from the bridge?” Detective Sergeant Collins asked, dropping a report on Michaels’ desk.
Collins was a good man, one that still believed in justice, which was a rarity in this city. Michaels had watched him climb through the ranks over the last few years. He was destined for greater things. There was no doubt.
“No, not yet,” Michaels picked up the report.
“Baskins says there was a jumper, went into the water around midnight.”
Michaels opened the file. Grainy photographs of a young woman falling from the railings sat beside a sheet of notes that DC Baskins had made. Facial recognition had drawn a blank, and the river police had reported no bodies discovered overnight.
Everyone assumed that the Thames would have taken her out into the estuary in a matter of hours.
“She could be in the channel by now,” Michaels said dismissively, closing the file. “Check with Missing Persons for a match.”
Collins nodded and took back the report. “By the way, the pathologist wants us down at the lab.’
Michaels got to his feet and looked around the office. “Where’s DC Thorne?”
“Chasing up a lead?”
“He actually said that?”
The DS looked a little sheepish. “Well, not exactly.”
Michaels grabbed his coat. “I have a good idea of where he’ll be. You stick to the witness statements. I take it we’ve got a team on house-to-house?”
“Yeah, although it's mostly dog walkers and joggers down there.”
It was raining when he stepped outside. Michaels looked around for a cab. There weren’t any, and he didn’t have the patience for the tube. Going underground drew the attention of the Soulless, and he really didn’t need that today. The morgue was down at Westminster Bridge, at least a twenty-minute walk, but first, he had something else to do.
He pulled up his collar, turned into an alley, and disappeared into the shadows.
Detective Constable Jesper Thorne stood beneath a tree, eating something wrapped in leaves. He hardly seemed to notice when Michaels stepped out of the shadows and came to stand beside him.
“Any sign of movement?”
Jesper shook his head. Droplets of rain cascaded from his hair to shower Michaels’ face. “Not a glimmer.”
“You know you don’t have to watch him. He won’t surface for hours after a rendering.”
The DC shrugged and turned his golden eyes towards his boss. “It’s my job. The Reaver must be watched at all times.”
Jesper had been with Michaels for years. The argument was always the same. His training was so ingrained that it was impossible to break. He was a watcher, one trained to follow the demon reaver wherever he roamed.
“How is the woman?” Jesper asked, throwing the remains of his meal into a nearby bush and rubbing the crumbs from his chin.
Michaels took a deep breath and his eyes glittered. “Still sleeping. I’ll visit her later to check the memory has been completely redacted.”
“Don’t trust me?” Jesper sniffed and turned away.
“You know I do. I just need to be sure. There was something unsettling. Her aura was off color.”
Jesper ran his hands through his damp, wet hair, and for a moment his glamour shifted to briefly reveal neat, short horns. “I know what you mean. I think she might be El-Fendi .”
Michaels nodded. He hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. A touched human that could sense their magic would complicate things.
Jesper looked back towards the penthouse apartment. “Or he’s been playing with her. How long was she alone with him?”
“Long enough.”