12. Ashe

It was a quarter past three by the time I pull up to Silent Hills. It was an older building, the faded brick exterior weathered by time, but it was well-equipped for inconspicuously disposing of the supernatural. After all, no one would ever question why a crematorium was burning a body.

Nationally recognized as an efficient, affordable and eco-friendly cremation service with locations spread throughout all of North America, the Silent Hills brand was publicly marketed as a family-owned franchise and privately funded by the Tribunal's deep pockets. There was even a small chapel nestled inside each crematorium, should customers desire a ceremony for their departed loved ones. The bodies of those killed by a Reaper, however, were offered no such rites.

"Welcome to Silent Hills Cremation Services!" The lady at the reception desk, a young bubbly brunette with half-moon spectacles and far too much makeup on, beams as soon as I step through the double oak doors. "How can I help you today?"

"I believe you had a package delivered here earlier this morning."

I pull my wallet out and flash the receptionist my badge. I do not bother hiding a smirk as her eyes widen in recognition at the words 'LIQUIDATION DEPARTMENT, REAPER' embossed in gold along the black metal finish and the Tribunal's sigil engraved in its center: the depiction of a robed woman stepping out of an inverted triangle, carrying a set of balance scales in one hand and a sickle in the other while a third eye stared boldly from the center of her blindfold.

The symbolic personification of judge, jury and executioner. The supernatural emblem of fear.

"Y-yes, of course!" She jolts to her feet as she fiddles with a set of keys. "Your, um, colleague arrived a little while ago. Please, right this way."

She leads me through a side door, the homely atmosphere of the lobby giving way to a dim hallway with wood paneling and ornate paintings hung neatly between the open doorways of show rooms and offices. A few curious onlookers glance in our direction as we pass by. I avoid direct eye contact with a human couple as they peruse a selection of urns, not wanting their grief to assault my senses.

"My coven's been servicing the Fourth Ward for over one hundred and eighty years," the receptionist chatters on as we approach a heavy metal door at the end of the hall. "I've only started learning the business a few years ago, myself. Usually we get the routine visits from Public Affairs whenever these, uh, packages come in, but I've never met anyone from Liquidation before."

"Fascinating," I reply with a tone that signifies anything but. I really hate small talk, especially with witches. But I could not deny that the ones who ran this crematorium had a certain aptitude for this line of work. Devout practitioners of soul magic, they had a gift for consoling the living during times of mourning with whispers from beyond the grave and could do wonders with preparing the dead for their departure.

I may have held an appreciation for what they do if they were not so priggish about it.

The woman's eyes roam over me, flicking curiously from the black combat boots to the black leather jacket to my auburn hair, and a soft smile graces her lips. "You know, you definitely look the part."

I quirk a brow, the amusement in my eyes masked by the aviators I still wore. "What part?"

"Strong, capable, fierce. Every bit like how I'd imagine a Reaper to look." Her words are laced with a mix of apprehension and intrigue, though I suppose I could not fault her for her curiosity. Most people who meet a Reaper rarely ever live to tell about it.

I flash her a wicked grin. "Pray we never meet outside this facility. Your opinion of me might change then."

Without another word, she unlocks the door and we step into a large room the size of a warehouse. Rustic brick lined the walls, a stark contrast to the smooth cement flooring, and several rows of large cremation chambers were spaced evenly between thick masonry columns.

"You're late. Again." Chandler shakes his head as we near the back of the room. "Why am I not surprised?"

I shrug, slipping my sunglasses up over my head. "I ran into traffic." It was a lie, and he knew it, but I did not care.

Chandler grunts, then turns to the receptionist standing awkwardly beside us. "I take it the paperwork has already been filled out?"

She nods. "Yes, sir. Public Affairs came by this morning and signed off on the disposal. The body is slated for cremation in a few hours."

"Good. The Tribunal thanks you for your service. We won't be long."

With that, she turns on her heels and leaves us to conduct our business. Apparently even her curiosity had its limits.

Once we were alone, I lower my gaze to the body bag lying on the mechanized loading counter between us. "So why are we here, again?"

Normally, once an assignment was completed the handlers would turn the file over to Public Affairs to finalize the reports. We put them down and leave them for the cleaners to take care of; rarely did we ever have to examine the bodies, ourselves.

"I wanted to see for myself exactly what it was you took down last night."

"I told you, it was a demon. A pissed off one, at that."

"Not according to its energy signature, or the report. They checked off 'lycan' in the species box."

I huff. "Well then they're either blind or idiots. It had two heads, Chandler, two."

"If that's the case then I need to clear up any discrepancies." He unzips the bag, stepping back as one of the clawed arms rolls out of the fold and dangles limply off the counter.

Under the bright florescent lighting I can make out the dried blood matting its coarse fur, the numerous scars lining its arms and torso, the gaping hole in its chest from my killing blow. The jaw of the horned head that was still attached hung open and a dark-spotted tongue lolled out between rows of jagged yellow teeth. If it was not for the horns and extra set of limbs, it was easy to see how Public Affairs could mistake this thing for a werewolf. The beast was truly hideous, and the smell of death and rot nearly overwhelmed my senses.

"See?" I say, gesturing to the small severed head placed unceremoniously on the creature's chest alongside its twisted black heart. "Two heads."

"And six limbs," he muses. "Interesting."

"Great, so it's a demon. Mystery solved, discrepancies addressed." I cross my arms. This was such a waste of my time. "Are we done here?"

"Ashe, I'm telling you, the levels of energy in that area were too low. Unless they've remained in hiding since the doorways were sealed, and short of being conjured by a witch, demons can only be pulled into our realm through a tear in the Veil. It's violent and painful when that happens and the displacement drives them insane."

My fists clench. "And I'm telling you that this isn't a goddamn shifter." Demons were not from our world so they did not feel emotions, they only fed upon them. But like a human who overindulges, demons were dangerously prone to overfeeding to the point where that emotion consumes them. Driven to madness by the rage they fed on, a wraith could be the worst kind of demon.

"If there was a tear in Goss Hollow," Chandler continues, "then we would've felt that spike when the creature first appeared. This thing was barely a blip on our radar. Its energy pattern didn't match that of a demon's and it certainly wasn't registering as a wraith."

"Well then if it wasn't pulled through a tear and it didn't come out of hiding to feed, how'd this thing get here? What even is it?"

Chandler glances at the body with renewed interest, pursing his lips as he examines every inch of the corpse. "This creature looks to have been spliced up and sewn together like a patchwork doll." He points to several incisions at the joints, nearly invisible unless you were looking closely. "These small lines here are actually sutures and I'm guessing the rest of the body has the same stitchwork all over it. Look at the arms, here. The skin colouration and fur texture doesn't match with the rest of the body. And the heart that you ripped from its chest? It's enlarged, but it doesn't belong to a demon and there's clear evidence of decay."

He leans back and shakes his head. "This isn't one beast but two, maybe more, Frankensteined together from various parts. Dead shifter parts, to be exact, and maybe some animals, too, which is why it was barely a blip. No wonder why our scrying couldn't tag it. Its energy signature wasn't its own."

"It still put up one hell of a fight," I mutter under my breath. At least that explains its lack of an aura. It was nothing more than a soulless vessel, void of any emotion except for the anger that it died with, an anger that still burned deep within its black decrepit heart.

But something Chandler said did not sit well with me and I narrow my eyes at his implication. "What're you getting at, exactly?"

"Someone took great pains to patch this thing together-a chimera, for lack of a better term, but a puppet nonetheless. Though this one seems to have been created for a very specific purpose. You said it was angry?"

I nod, my gut wrenching the longer our conversation wore on. "I could practically taste its rage. I swear, this thing gave every indication that it was a wraith. A puppet has no reason to feed and it sure as hell can't put up the kind of fight this thing did. It was raw and powerful, almost like-"

"Like a demon wearing a skin?"

I frown. "Skins aren't made from dead things, Chandler."

"It's highly uncommon these days for skincrafters to use a corpse in their illegal practices. But this one did when creating their puppet, which might be why it went mad and led you to believe that it was a wraith. Its soul wasn't called back through the Veil, though, so we aren't dealing with a case of reanimation. No, I believe this chimera was being used as a skin to trap a demon."

"That's impossible."

"It's a crude attempt to mimic the art of soulbinding and, clearly, it didn't take. None of this magic is sanctioned by the Tribunal, which means . . ." He sucks in a breath, the air whistling between his teeth as he turns to me with a furrowed brow. "It would seem that we have an apostate on our hands."

Oh, great. For a minute there I was worried. "You can't be serious."

"Shadow magic was outlawed some time ago but there are still a few zealots out there who dabble in the dark arts." Chandler pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, a habit of his whenever he was lost in his own thoughts. "If they were looking for a way to control demons, then binding one to something as easy to control as a puppet would be the next best thing. In theory, of course."

"A demon bound to a corpse with a witch pulling the strings." I snort at the absurdity of that thought. "Only an idiot would think they could control a demon."

Witches tried that once before and the price that was paid was steep. After scouring the known world centuries ago to hunt down and exterminate both demons and soul rings during the Crusades, the Tribunal ensured that the secret to soulbinding was lost forever to time. But now it seems that someone was eager to unearth that magic and repeat their past mistakes.

"Zealots rarely ever think, Ashe. They react, take risks. Do whatever they can to stir the pot and impose their own ideals. But this"-he gestures to the corpse-"this was calculated, even for a rebellious eccentric."

"Well if they wanted to make a public statement, they definitely put themselves on the map." I pause, glancing over the body one last time before asking, "How would we even find them?"

The Tribunal loved keeping tabs on the supernatural. Abide by their rules and bask in the privilege of living in their shadow; break their laws and meet death at the end of their sickle. It was a small price to pay for enjoying their protection within the Wards and, at the risk of being branded as apostates, young witches were registered by their covens as soon as their powers manifested themselves.

But shadow magic was not recognized by the Tribunal. Only an unregistered witch would be brave enough to risk using such magic so openly.

"Puppetry and skincrafting are perversions of blood magic. At the hands of an apostate it would be difficult, but not impossible, to trace. Something of theirs may have been left behind during the ritual." Chandler shrugs as he zips up the body bag. "I'll send over a team to see what they can find out before the body is cremated. I'll also check with Public Affairs to see if there's been any missing persons reports filed by the local shifter tribes in the last few months. If we can pinpoint where these body parts came from, it might give us a good lead. And I'd like for you to follow up on-"

"I don't do mysteries, Chandler," I interject, cutting him off before he could even think about finishing that sentence. "I'm just the fucking weapon, I'm not the hand. Recon isn't in my job description."

"Right." He sighs and clears his throat. "Well, then, I guess we're done here. I'll meet you back at the office to brief you on your next assignment. Let's see if you can't wrap that one up faster than you did this one."

A Reaper's job was never done. With a terse nod I slip my aviators back on and turn to leave.

"Oh, Ashe, one more thing."

I inwardly groan. "What now?"

"There was a small spike in Veil energy last night, right around Goss Hollow Park. It matched the typical pattern of a backdoor opening up."

Of course the witches back at headquarters would have sensed that. Along with keeping track of the rogue supernaturals that threaten the Tribunal's decree of secrecy, it was also their job to monitor for disturbances in the Veil. Like tears and backdoors.

"Really?" I ask, my tone betraying nothing of the slow panic that was bubbling within me. Only a trusted few knew about my ring, so there was no reason for me to be concerned. Still, maintaining my composure was crucial if I wanted to keep it that way. "I suppose it's possible that our new friend transported themselves out of there as soon as the fight started. Pretty brave for them to step through a backdoor so willingly, though." Even between the Wards of this realm, traveling through the Veil was not exactly a pleasant experience.

"Or they had just finished summoning and trapping another demon. Hard to say without any clear evidence." Chandler quirks a brow. "So you saw nothing strange in the woods?"

I match his stare with practiced ease. "I was a little preoccupied with fighting our chimera friend, here, Chandler. Didn't exactly have time to notice if there were illicit practitioners of forbidden magic dancing through the trees."

"Of course. We'll have Public Affairs send out a team to investigate. If it was our mysterious apostate, I'm sure we'll catch him." Chandler offers me a small smile before turning around and walking out.

I wait until I know I'm alone before I allow myself to breathe again.

Dammit, if they know about the backdoor in the park then it was only a matter of time before they trace it back to Dani's apartment. If that happens then they will find out about my soul ring and eliminate everyone with any knowledge of its existence. Not even I would be spared from the Reapers as they swooped in to bury the truth, many of whom were all too eager to send me to an early grave should the chance arise.

In a fit of rage I kick the counter, rattling the corpse and leaving a sizeable dent in the metal frame. "Shit!"

This mess just got a lot more complicated.

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A/N: Ohhh my!