Souls of the Reaper

By Markie Madden

A rogue Reaper is on the loose in the city of Dallas. Su Xiong is a sociopath with no care for human life. He steals souls whose numbers are not yet up in order to become a more powerful Immortal.

While he’s on the prowl to gain power, his soulless victims roam the streets without morals, without inhibitions, without any code of conduct or social mores. Crime has risen tenfold: petty crimes, road rage, prostitution, drinking, and gambling. But for each soul that he captures and keeps, his own mental stability begins to degrade, a fact that Xiong is dangerously blind to.

Can Lacey and Colton, along with Doctors Matthews and Dilorenzo, find him and stop him, before the insanity inside spoils the souls he holds within?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Metamorph Publishing
• Release date: Feb 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311412072

Markie Madden

Markie Madden, born Marguerite Malone on August 19, 1975 in Midland, Texas, is the author of Once Upon a Western Way, Keeping a Backyard Horse, and My Butterfly Cancer. She grew up in Flushing, Michigan, where she began to write stories when she was a teenager. She married in 1994 and now has 2 teenage daughters. She has 3 rescue dogs and a horse whom she enjoys spending time with. She is also a cancer survivor, battling leukemia (AML) in 2013-2014. She now resides in a small country town in Missouri, where she continues to write. She hopes that her newest book, Keeping a Backyard Horse, will help prevent accidental mistreatment of horses, and help educate horse owners in taking care of their horse even on a budget. She raised and trained her horse Athena. In 2014, she founded Metamorph Publishing as a way to self-publish her books, and she's now working with other indie authors as well. Her three books Once Upon a Western Way, Keeping a Backyard Horse, and My Butterfly Cancer are all available in print and for e-readers, and My Butterfly Cancer is also out in audiobook format. She can also be found on GoodReads, Scribophile, Shelfari, and Wattpad, as well as many other social media such as Twitter, Pinterest, Tumblr, LinkedIn, Facebook, and more.

Book preview

Souls of the Reaper

The Undead Unit 2

Markie Madden

This book is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places and incidents are entirely fictional and are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, (or Undead!), locations, or incidents is coincidental.

Copyright 2015 by Metamorph Publishing and Markie Madden

To request a digital autograph, visit: Authorgraph: https://www.authorgraph.com/authors/naddya81975

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means- electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other--except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles--without the express written permission of the author or publisher.

All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. I’m not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

Cover Art Creative Commons via Flickr: Skull by L.C. Nøttaasen, hood by Matt Buck. City scape via Creative Market, titled Chicago Long Exposure, by Bryan Minear & Co. Moon image titled Misty Moon copyright 2015 by Metamorph Publishing.

ISBN# 978-1516923366

Smashwords ISBN# 978-1311412072

Published by Metamorph Publishing

Printed in the United States of America

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or it was purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Please remember, if you enjoyed this book, return to the place of purchase and leave a review. These are extremely important for authors.

Books in The Undead Unit Series

Fang and Claw (Undead Unit 1)

Souls of the Reaper (Undead Unit 2)

Blood Lust (Undead Unit 3)--coming soon!

∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

The Undead Unit Series

Over a hundred years in the future, it’s a world where supernatural beings live and work among humans. Of course, the government has forced them to take the Undead Oath in order to gain citizenship; they must not prey on humans for food. They’re often given tasks in jobs suited for their species, but just as among other minorities, they must struggle to prove themselves.

As if dealing with racial prejudice isn’t enough, there is also a criminal element, just as there is with any group of beings living in society. The Dallas Police Department has introduced an elite new squad made up of Undead officers and detectives. This unit is dedicated to solving crimes involving Immortals. Headed by veteran Lieutenant Lacey Anderson, can the Undead Unit overcome its obstacles, both internal and external, or will it be doomed to failure?

To Gary, who provided a sounding board for me during the writing of this book (as well as the first book in the series!), and without whom my writing would not be as good. Cheers to you, my friend!

Su Xiong (Sue John-guh): A name of Chinese origin meaning hero, heroic, powerful, mighty, and also bear. In the Chinese language, the family (last) name is given first, followed by the given (first) name.

Prologue

No excellent soul is exempt from a mixture of madness.~~Aristotle

The man gazed past the reflection of himself in the dark, full-length window, watching the city lights below flickering through the drops of rain rolling down the smooth glass. Though it was winter, the temperature rarely dropped to freezing, and when it did, it never stayed there for long. As a result, most of their precipitation fell as rain instead of snow, except for the occasional ice storm that passed through every decade or so and left behind a city glittering under its crystals. Classical symphony music played softly as he bobbed his head in time with the beat. He was intently focused on the moment at hand.

A quiet, feminine moan drew his attention from the window, and he turned to look at the woman on the bed. Her wrists were tied securely to the bedposts, and her head rolled restlessly on the soft pillow, perhaps reacting to some dream or hallucination brought on by the drug he had slipped into the wine earlier. After a moment, she stilled again, her voluptuous body relaxing under the thin sheet. He clasped his hands together in anticipation. This was going to be fun.

Xiong went to the small table next to the bed and reached into the antique black bag. It had belonged to a doctor over two hundred years ago, and was an affectation that amused him. The case also allowed him to carry his supplies, keeping them in easy reach, and so it served a practical purpose as well. He was, after all, a practical sort of man. He withdrew a syringe and a vial of clear liquid. He drew an old watch from his pocket, glanced at its white face, and smiled. The woman was almost ready. His fingers felt the minute edges of the engraved hourglass on the back of the smooth casing. Then, he tucked the watch back into his pocket, causing the thin gold chain hanging from a belt loop to dance and catch the muted light.

The drug he gave the woman easily rendered her unconscious, and he carried her to the bedroom to make his preparations. But he’d learned what he needed was to catch her at that perfect moment right before she returned to awareness. The twilight of that instant would make her ripe for the taking. Then he would give her the Valium that would erase her short-term memory of him, and do what he was there to do. When the woman woke, she might have a massive headache, but she would have no idea of what had transpired. This voluptuous woman would never know he existed.

He measured the exact amount of sedative for her body weight. It had taken him a long time to perfect his routine, to determine the correct dosage of each drug so that he could do what he did as efficiently and quietly as possible. He had carefully tested this technique on various homeless people in the heart of the city, and, over time, as medical science had improved, so had the efficacy of the drugs. He was ready. Nothing would stop him from carrying out his plan. He turned to his victim and expertly inserted the needle into a vein on her outstretched arm.

1

The envious person grows lean with the fatness of their neighbor. ~~Socrates

Lacey Anderson elbowed her way through the crowd loitering aimlessly around the entrance to her favorite coffee shop, something that she had never before observed in all the time she frequented the high-end bistro. Is it my imagination, or is everyone in the city stoned out of their minds? Over the past several weeks, she had noticed an increasing number of people exhibiting odd behavior. They still got out of their beds, dressed, and went to school or work or wherever they needed to be during the day. But it was almost as if they were completely absent from what was going on around them.

The other day, she’d seen a young couple sitting outside a cafe, holding a normal conversation with one another while staring out into space with a blankness to their eyes. People who were generally polite suddenly acted as if manners had gone out of style. If she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought everyone in the city was ‘Turning’ into Zombies. Road rage calls were on a dramatic increase. Maybe the Wolves were on a rampage, biting and infecting innocent humans with the toxin found in their saliva. But if that was true, it would mean a huge violation of the Undead Oath. There were slightly under three million people currently living in Dallas, and it seemed that half of them were off their rocker.

She shook her head as she made her way into the bistro. A leering trio of teenagers blocking the doorway mouthed off as she passed them. Lacey thought she would have to physically force them away from the door, but she gave them an icy glare and they slowly moved out of her way. La Femme was an upscale coffee house and eatery, catering to the rich and spoiled trophy wives of Dallas’ most important people. Lacey had a hard time believing no one had come out front to chase away the young thugs, as their presence was a sure deterrent to business.

Inside, a short line had formed at the counter, where a smartly-dressed barista named Mari dealt with customers, ran the drive-through window via a microphone and headset, and sent orders via the computer system to other employees. Lacey had never seen Mari look so disconcerted. The young woman was usually unflappable and highly efficient. Yet today she looked to be ready to dissolve into tears at any moment. Two men who looked to be in their late 20’s were leaning over the counter and yelling at the poor woman. Lacey felt righteous fury erupting inside her.

Pulling her badge, she sidestepped the other patrons who were staring at the confrontation with all the avid interest of road accident spectators. Politely, she tapped the shoulder of the guy nearest to her.

Excuse me.

Stay out of this, bitch. The man couldn’t be bothered to look her way.

In a flash, Lacey took hold of his wrist, twisted his arm up his back, pivoted, and slammed his head down to the counter with a solid thunk. In the next instant, she shoved her badge in his face and announced pleasantly, Dallas Police. Is there a problem here, Mari? Stunned, the young woman simply nodded her head. Then I assume you’d like these two escorted out, and that they and their friends outside are no longer welcome here?

Yes. This time Mari found her voice, and gave Lacey a warm and grateful smile.

You heard the lady. Lacey’s voice had gone cold and quiet. She saw from the corner of her eye the man’s cohort trying to sneak closer to her. You better think twice. He stopped when she spoke, obviously thinking twice about his course of action. She leaned down to the man she still held tightly to the counter. You and your friends were leaving, isn’t that right?

The young man tried nodding, but Lacey still had him pinned. So he said, Yes, officer. We were leaving.

With that, Lacey turned loose of the man and watched as he and his buddy left the bistro. They collected the unruly teens from the front of the store and took off across the parking lot. Applause erupted throughout the intimate restaurant. The patrons who had been in line before Lacey stepped aside, and gestured for her to go in front of them. A bit embarrassed, she approached the counter.

Hi, Lacey. Mari beamed at her, seeming relieved. Thanks a lot for helping out with them.

Lacey looked over the other woman closely, making sure she hadn’t been injured in any way. Mari was dressed in a tailored pair of black slacks, a white blouse, and a dark green apron with black accents. Her reddish-brown hair was tucked into an elaborate bun at the back of her neck. She seemed no worse for wear. Is that sort of thing common here? She would be surprised if it were so.

Mari’s hazel eyes sparkled as she giggled. No, as if. But she sobered right away. It’s not the first time this week, though.

As the young woman turned to prepare Lacey’s customary tea, Lacey’s eye narrowed. It’s happened before? The same guys?

Oh, no. Last time it was a group of women. Bunch of rich hags. Deftly, Mari answered a call from the drive up window, her fingers flying over the computerized register. About eight or nine of them come in, right, gossiping like schoolgirls. Looked like they’d finished playing a couple of tennis sets before coming in. Whatever, anyway they all ordered one of the Almond Tarts. You know, they’ve got 170 calories, so they’re often popular with all the fad diet types. Well, we only had half a dozen in the case. They take a while to prepare, you know?

I’ll take your word for it. Lacey wasn’t certain she’d ever heard of Almond Tarts.

Mari took the stiff paper cup from under the brewer, adding in a generous squirt of honey syrup and expertly fitting on the plastic lid. So anyway, it turns into a knock-down, drag-out fight right here at the counter. Well, girlie fight, as all they ended up doing was breaking a few nails and pulling hair. Then three of them decided they wanted something else, so they ordered and left, squawking like Jays again. Damnedest thing I ever saw!

Lacey took her tea and reached into her pocket for a handful of debits.

Mari wouldn’t hear of it. Oh, no, girl, this one’s on the house.

For your tip, then, Lacey replied.

Well, if you insist. Mari’s laugh was musical.

Lacey returned to her car, still shaking her head over the craziness that seemed to have engulfed the city en masse. That something strange was going on was certain, however, she could find no single incident that would tie together all the odd things occurring all around her. Maybe it’s something in the water. Or maybe the population has finally hit critical mass, the point of no return at which the Earth can’t provide enough oxygen for the air-breathers!

∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

Colton Scarber whistled an off-key tune as he strolled from his apartment carrying a tall mug of hot coffee. The pups went to bed early last night, allowing him some much needed time alone with Becca. He got a good night’s sleep, too, and woke feeling a lot less grumpy than usual. His wife cooked him a hearty breakfast and sent him to work with the kind of kiss that made him wish he could afford to be late.

So he was caught completely off-guard when he approached his truck. There it was, in the same parking space he parked it in the night before. It wasn’t a brand-new truck, or even the fanciest of its year. But, it was paid for, and didn’t require a lot in the way of maintenance. Or, at least, not until now. Rage blossomed white-hot through his mind as his eyes took in his beloved vehicle, covered in gooey white and yellow egg yolk already starting to bake in the early-morning sun.

Thick, congealed globs oozed down windows and doors, already drawing up the paint in rivulets. If he was a fanciful sort, he would have imagined his precious vehicle was in tears. Since he wasn’t, he did the next best thing. He bellowed like an enraged bull and hurled his mug to the pavement, where it rang with a hollow, metal pipe sound as it tumbled end-over-end, spewing liquid with each spin. Several of his apartment complex’s youth, who were in the parking lot waiting for the bus to school, startled at his bellow, looking rapidly from side to side as if anticipating attack.

Even though he knew it would make him late for work, Colton turned around and stomped back to the apartment.

Did you forget something, honey? His wife called from the living room as he walked through the door.

Goddamn sons-of-bitches!

This brought Becca running. What happened?

Fucked up my truck, that’s what, he snarled. Little bastards with their raw eggs all over my paint job!

He saw the barest hint of a smirk before Becca managed to cover it completely. Oh, honey! He could see that she was beginning to relax, realizing that it wasn’t a fight-or-flight situation.

I’m going to have to call someone. Colton’s voice was full of barely contained rage. It’s already taking the paint off! And I know the damned insurance isn’t going to pay for this.

Why don’t you take the van? Becca suggested with a gentle tone. I’ll call someone, if you tell me who you’d trust with it.

The idea of driving Becca’s car didn’t appeal to him, as he was much too Wolf to be caught dead in a van unless his family was tagging along. But he knew Becca was right. It was too early to be calling anyone to fix his truck, and he could still make it to work on time if he left now. So it was with a sigh of resignation that he wrote down the name of his usual mechanic and body shop, and kissed his wife goodbye for the second time. Once he’d gotten settled into the van, making the usual adjustments to the seat and rear-view mirrors, he pulled out into the street. Then, he realized that his to-go coffee mug was left abandoned on the parking lot pavement, and he cursed at the thought that it would be long gone by the time he returned.

It was probably ruined anyway. Angry at himself for throwing the cup in the first place, and then neglecting to pick it up again, he turned the radio up to an ear-shattering volume and let the rock and roll pummel his body as he inched his way through rush hour traffic. He would have normally left the apartment sooner, and missed some of the daily madness. Other vehicles crawled at a snail’s pace down the city streets, often accompanied by the harsh sound of horns, curses shouted from open windows, and more than a few rude hand gestures.

Colton freely added his own curses to the mix, though Becca’s van had decent air conditioning, so his windows were sealed up tight and his tirade fell on his ears alone. Not for the first time, he seriously reconsidered his refusal of a departmental vehicle. At least if something happened to it while he had it parked at the apartment, it wouldn’t be his responsibility to get it repaired. But he’d never been comfortable in the company Chargers, as they always felt too low to the ground for him.

As he neared the station, traffic went from a creep to a dead stop. The start and stop movement made him twitchy. Finally, he used his phone to put a call into dispatch. He gave the man his nearest cross streets and said, Traffic seems to be stopped. Can you tell me if there are any calls in the area?

One moment, detective. Colton inched the car forward again. Yes, sir, it seems there was a traffic accident three blocks from your location. Officers are already on the scene. But you’re looking at a delay of possibly 15 or 20 minutes.

Damn it! Will you get a message to Lieutenant Anderson, tell her I’m on the way, but will be a little late?

Sure thing, detective.

Thanks, he muttered, but the phone had already disconnected.

Though he knew it would be next to useless, Colton squeezed into the right hand lane, planning to take a side street to go around the accident scene. However, at the next turn, he saw traffic backed up there as well. Swearing, he glanced around for any way out of the wall-to-wall cars. Heat pumped off the pavement in visible waves. As the vehicles inched forward, he spotted a clear alley between two sets of tall buildings. He reached for the siren, then swore again as he realized he hadn’t installed the police equipment in Becca’s van.

Still, he grunted as he wrenched the wheel to the right, guiding the clumsy van into the alley. It was a tight fit; a scant few inches separated him from the garbage dumpsters set at regular distances behind the tall structures. He imagined the buildings housed storefronts on the street level, offices or apartments higher up. Keeping a sharp eye out for anyone roaming the alley, Colton made his way to the next road, blaring his horn and forcing his way into the snarl of traffic.

His mood hadn’t improved any by the time he arrived at the station, twenty minutes late for his shift. He expected Lacey to call him out for it. Even though the tension between them had eased up a bit since their harrowing experience on the roof where Lacey had nearly fallen to her death, she was still, among other things, his boss. He would not anticipate any favoritism on her part, especially when it came to him.

She didn’t disappoint. Before he could even reach his cubicle, she stepped from her office and snapped, You’re late.

Dispatch didn’t tell you I called? He immediately felt his defenses go up.

Yes, they did. Her tone softened marginally. Let’s go, we have a call.

What, already? A little over a week before, they closed a case involving a previously unknown species of Immortal called a Skinwalker, and though it might be several months or longer before that unsub ever saw the light of the courtroom, he expected the brass would have given them at least a week’s leeway before throwing them into a new case. But he shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him and followed his partner back out into the parking lot.

She glanced in the direction of his assigned space, not bothering to hide a smirk as she noticed the van sitting there instead of his truck. Car trouble? Her voice held a polite tone even though he knew she meant it sarcastically.

As he lowered himself into her low, sporty-car seats and wiggled to make himself comfortable, he snarled, Yeah, damn pissant kids in my complex. Had the nerve to egg my truck overnight.

She tried and failed to smother a laugh. It came out instead as a cough. Crime is rampant on the streets.

I’m telling you, people are going crazy. Or, more than usual, anyway. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was a full moon. Since he was a Werewolf, he always had an innate sense of the moon’s cycles.

Don’t I know it. She drove from the parking lot in her usual speedy manner. Damn the Vampires, but they do love their speed! He gripped the chicken stick without hesitation as she continued the conversation. Do you know La Femme Bistro?

You mean that fancy eating place over on 110th?

That’s the place, she agreed.

Thought that was a place for rich trophy wives to stuff their faces with lo-cal and vegan crap and think it’s okay to drink wine for breakfast because it’s served in orange juice? You go there?

What? I like their tea. She admitted, seeming embarrassed.

Okay, what about them?

Well, I was there this morning and had to break up a verbal altercation. Between two twenty-something men and one of the baristas.

It’s hard to think of too many twenty-something young men who would be caught dead in a place like that. No offense. I mean, unless they were gay. And still, even that doesn’t make sense.

That was my thought as well. She switched lanes rapidly to avoid a slow-moving vehicle. But according to Mari, the barista, this isn’t the first similar incident this week. She said the first time, it was a group of the rich and snooty having a bit of a slap fest and hair pulling over a bunch of stupid tarts.

What’s tart? He was confused, thinking tart beverages probably wouldn’t sell well.

No, tarts. Used as a noun, not adjective. A tart is a pastry. And apparently there weren’t enough to go around.

"They started pulling hair