Absent Angels: Starling Nightcastle, #3

By Ubriel Bryne and Ubriel Bryne Books

 Pete is the subject of an FBI manhunt, and Star's connections to the case land her on enforced vacation. With the delayed purge and its aftermath still fresh in their minds, her personal demon whisks her away to a tropical resort.

Once he's poured her full of fruity frozen concoctions, Crow offers her a new deal meant to prevent delays in the future. Star's pretty sure it's what she wants, but an encounter with ghosts in Crow's past raises new questions about, not just what they're doing, but why.

When new evidence brings Star home, her involvement with the case raises concerns for her safety. It's only a matter of time before Pete makes his move.

Book Three of this dark and gritty urban fantasy shows the growing pains Star must endure before she can learn to defeat her own demons.

She hasn't even figured out what they all are, yet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ubriel Bryne Books
• Release date: Sep 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798986446943

Ubriel Bryne

Ubriel Bryne’s writing is sometimes whimsical and sometimes flippant but always full of creative imagery. She has been writing for two decades and released a few shorter works here and there. Her debut science fiction novel series, The Ports of Surset, was released in 2020. The full series is available on Kindle Unlimited. The Starling Nightcastle series is Ubriel’s urban fantasy debut.

Book preview

Prologue

A picture containing silhouette Description automatically generated The Saturday after my brother’s funeral, I got a call from my mother at the rosy butt-crack of dawn. Hey! I bought bagels and was hoping you’d come help me clean out your brother’s room.

I rolled my head to the side, hoping to see Mike’s caramel eyes smiling and telling me he’d be right beside me. All I saw was the back of his head. I wasn’t sure if he was upset with me or if I was still experiencing the isolation of my grief, but he’d seemed distant since the funeral.

With a suppressed sigh, I told her I was on my way and rolled the opposite direction out of bed. Early as it was, I got there before I was really, fully awake and made my way up the irrationally winding walk to the front door. I heard them screaming at each other halfway through the second curve. I should have turned back and got back in bed.

We buried the only good thing to come out of this marriage three days ago. Get out of my way! My father’s voice was thick with an Alabama accent and fury.

My mother’s voice was whiney even as she screamed back, possibly her greatest talent. I stood on the front patio, watching their shadows pass in the door-side window. One of Nate’s old dinosaur stickers still clung there crinkled against the frame on the inside. I studied that sticker and waited, not aware of the time passing, listening to the hate being churned up inside.

Get out of my way! They were getting closer to the door, no longer padding back and forth.

If you leave, I’ll shoot myself. Everyone knows it’s your guns. My mother, the pathetic beggar. Maybe that’s where I get it from.

Don’t miss, bitch! The hulking shadow loomed on the other side of the curtained window, then turned away.

I frowned, feeling my forehead mapping out the course of future wrinkles. It was suddenly eerily quiet. I fumbled for my key and turned it in the lock, still no sound. I pushed the door open a crack and eased through, my eyes casting high and low, side to side. The back door slammed, and I almost bolted back to my car.

Where do you think you’re going to go? No one will take you in. My mother trailed behind my father with her arms crossed under her breasts. The tracks of her attempt at tears still glistened unevenly on her red and puffy cheeks.

"That’s your problem. No one will take you in. I’ve got places to go." That’s when they saw me.

My mother’s waterworks resumed gushing, and my father stopped as if hit with a freeze ray. I watched the recognition and then the transformation. His brows met in one bushy line above his eyes, furrowed and crinkled with red rage. He resumed his forward motion, slowly and deliberately, terrifyingly; the way he’d done so many times when I questioned or challenged him.

Are you okay, Daddy? I heard the creak in my voice like the wooden floor of a long-abandoned house in a windstorm.

Don’t ever call me that again. I ain’t your Daddy. He picked up the duffel bag he’d thrown on the floor by the door and used it to shove me out of his way. I’m disgusted just to look at you. That was almost the last thing the man I called Daddy ever said to me.

He could have left it at that. I mean, I think I got the point. I don’t know what made him feel the need to stop at the open front door and turn back. You’re just like your damned mother.

That was the last thing he ever said to me.

Chapter 1. Proposal

A picture containing silhouette Description automatically generated My name is Starling Nightcastle. I often wake from dreams about living someone else’s nightmare. For most of my life, I’ve been stuck in my own nightmare, looking for a way out. One day, I’d find one. Until then, I needed....

I lifted my head from the rim of the enormous innertube and brought my drink straw to my lips. A brief pull brought the tang of a frozen pineapple drink to my tongue. Not coffee.

A few weeks earlier, my boss, Mr. Pisani, had ordered me to take some time off. Crow had whisked me off to this tropical resort, where I was obliged to relax while on my enforced vacation. To that end, we drifted along a circuit of highly chlorinated and vibrantly blue water, a meandering floating ride. I rolled my head to the side and squinted from beneath the brim of my floppy straw hat. Crow lay upon an equally large innertube, arms and legs splayed like some misshapen water spider.

Crow, I’m bored. I lifted my other hand to wiggle my straw. And I’m almost out of drink.

Crow tossed a backhanded acknowledgement at my cup and waved it full again. Relax and rest today, Little Bird. You will need your strength for the adventure I have planned for tomorrow.

I fitted the straw between my lips and closed my eyes. Pinching the tip of the straw nearly shut with my teeth, I pulled little sips through, one tiny tang at a time. My tongue coated and going numb with the cold, I inhaled deeply, inspiring a yawn and stretch, which nearly capsized me. With a yelp I straightened and threw a glare at Crow. It stopped at the simple glare. I couldn’t figure out how to blame him past the fact that he’d brought me here.

‘Here’ was an island in the depths of some tropical portion of the ocean. I wasn’t sure exactly where. It was hot. That was enough information for me. I’d never been fond of sultry summer weather, particularly not when the humidity and the temperature were racing to the top of their respective measuring units. This wasn’t too bad, though, with the ocean breezes flitting across my skin.

I sighed and sipped. The sky I could see, above the blue and green ocean, almost glowed bright blue. Wispy fragments of cloud streaked the perfectly monotone color here and there, so faint I could almost believe I imagined them. Another breeze, a bit stronger, whipped up from behind me, catching the brim of my hat and giving me a little push downstream.

A chill rippled over my sun kissed shoulders, and I shivered. An adventure? What kind of adventure?

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know in advance. The rules of our outings usually stated that I wasn’t allowed to ask too many questions or complain. They also stated that I was allowed time to prepare myself and that Crow would pick me up from my apartment. I wasn’t sure which rules, if any, applied here.

It’s a surprise, Bird. Crow’s voice should have been strained by the angle of his neck, but the smooth contralto came through unhindered even at that awkward angle.

Yes, I gathered that. I’m not a fan of those. Why do I need to rest up?

Crow turned to face me; his eyes hidden by the deep blood red lenses of his shades. I will tell you if you promise not to balk.

I squinted at him from behind my own brown tinted lenses, thinking. After a moment, I leaned my head back again and said, Yeah, okay. I promise. The rules, it seemed, did apply here. That had its advantages.

Crow’s innertube caught a cross current and drifted closer to mine, cutting the distance between us. I’d like to show you a place that was once quite special to me. I think it would be nice to share it with you.

What place?

It’s a grotto, behind a waterfall up on the side of that hill over there. He jutted his chin toward the ancient mountain rising from the center of the island.

I shifted my gaze between him and the mountain and back. Hill?

No balking. You promised.

I grumbled and re-inserted the straw between my lips.

Thank you. I promise it will be worth your efforts. He pursed his lips and jutted his chin forward, a weird stretch of his neck. Tomorrow. For today, I have another thought which, I hope, will allow us to avoid, in the future, the type of discomfort you endured while awaiting your last purge.

I ducked my chin and pulled my shades down the bridge of my nose to peer at him over the top rim, straw still between my lips.

Truly! I could tell it was difficult for you. There wasn’t anything I could really do at the time; however, now, I believe I have an idea. We may be able to prepare ourselves and avoid any such delayed purges in the future.

This piqued my interest, and I pushed my sunglasses back in place as I wiggled into a more upright sitting position. Really? How?

I considered the mechanism of effect of our deal. Normally, Crow would identify a likely client and send me in to butter them up and make the pitch. I was eerily effective in the role, particularly given my typical disability with social anything. Back in early April, we’d lost a client. Paul was probably the kindest and best human being I had ever known. When he refused his offer at a swap, I gained a best friend, but I’d also been left without a vessel to purge the overwhelming emotional turmoil that had plagued me most of my life. Those emotions had built up into a chaotic mess before we’d secured a new client.

I felt a sick churn in my gut, thinking about it. Even with a full purge in place and only weeks old, it had been a vile conclusion to a messy deal. Tara had been a mother, wife, and retired but talented ballerina. In offering her the deal, I had inadvertently consigned her whole family to death. I had a full range of rampant emotion and little or no defense against it.

Tara had taken her own life, as well, in order to hasten the swap. I was so distraught at the time, I’d almost missed that purge, too. Later that same night, I’d found out Pete had slaughtered Tara’s entire family; at her behest, no less. I used to call Pete a friend, before that.

He and Donna, the two EMTs that brought in most of our clients, post-mortem... mid-mortem? Either way, they were human demons and good at it. Donna’s sort of demonic revelry tended toward the seduction and destruction of unsuspecting men. I had thought Pete was on the same track, but for women, based on his previous behavior and chatter. Nope. Turned out, Pete was some kind of serial killer with a trail of bodies spanning over fifty years and across the country.

He’d been singled out as a person of interest as soon as the bodies of Tara’s family were found, but he’d gotten away. He’d put on a new face and stepped into his old life, replacing himself and hiding from the FBI right where he’d always been. I was riding the calm of a full purge and biding my time. If there was a way to expose him and make him pay the price of his demonly behaviors, I was determined to find it.

The purge should have left me unable to work up any interest, much less have lingering emotional responses, no matter how vile the situation. In all other respects, the purge felt complete, leaving me blissfully dead inside. All except for this. I was repulsed by the thought of Pete, and these new and irritating, unpurgeable emotions kept inciting breathless anxiety attacks in otherwise calm moments.

There I was, lying splayed on a ridiculously large, rubber donut, floating along at a relaxed walking speed, a pineapple rum slushy robbing my faculties of clarity, and gasping at the sudden onset of panic. Invisible iron hands gripped my heart and lungs, squeezing all three so I could feel every straining beat of my heart, every restricted breath.

I dropped my slushy and vaguely registered it evaporating before hitting the water. Crow’s arms pulled me from my raft, wrapped around me, and held me securely to his chest. He carried me to the side of the amusement park river, my head tucked up under his chin. Bird? What is happening?

I’m okay. I’ll be okay. I just started thinking about Pete and Tara again. I wiggled, knocking my hat askew, and finding room for my sunglasses in my personal demon’s embrace.

Crow caught my hat as it fell and a low rumble in his chest preceded a gravelly imprecation. He took liberties with the assignment that I had not approved.

I pushed back and frowned. You didn’t approve?

He did not ask permission before carrying out his own initiatives. He stepped back, his hands on my shoulders, and peered into my eyes. I cannot say I do not approve of the slaughter of the innocents. It does serve the greater purpose of my existence. However, I would never approve of anything that would bring harm to you or our arrangement.

Yeah, I know. I turned to watch the other guests of the resort passing by. A few glanced our direction, either watching us or noting the way our innertubes floated calmly beside us, not tethered, and not moving in the current. I filled my lungs and blew out an open-mouthed sigh.

Would you like to continue our Lazy Rafting? He gestured to the innertubes.

I nodded vaguely and clambered back onto my float. When I was settled atop the thing, Crow settled my hat back atop my head, recalled my drink from the ether, and took a prone position on his own float, hands and chin resting on the edge of mine. We drifted for a few minutes, him watching me worrying my drink straw, and me watching the sun shimmer on his back. The glowing water droplets strewn there looked almost like leopard spots.

He had never been the most handsome man-shape. He wasn’t outright ugly or deformed or even asymmetrical. He was a little on the thin side, medium height and build. He had straight coarse black hair and a face that had always looked a little underdone to me, pudgy where you’d expect sharp and sharp where you’d expect a little softness. As I looked at him then, those defects in his features seemed less pronounced.

His nose seemed straighter and his cheek bones more prominent. The small, rumpled jut of his chin appeared more well-defined against the fluorescent green of the float. The weeks we’d spent at various activities under the sun had darkened his olive complexion to a deep caramel. I squinted and pulled the straw away from my lips to purse them at him.

Are you getting more handsome?

He snorted. I have, in fact, been taking a little more, um, care with the appearance of my aspect. Thank you for noticing, Bird.

Liar. I sipped my drink and stared a challenge at him. Anytime he said, ‘Um,’ I knew to take a closer look at whatever he was trying not to draw my attention toward. It was such an obvious tell, I couldn’t believe he hadn’t taken measures to eradicate it. Still, there it was, a filler noise, not always present, but only needed when he was not being entirely, accurately truthful with me.

He clucked his tongue at me and performed a rolling adjustment to his perch, defying the laws of physics. Believe what you will. He sprawled his long limbs over the sides of his raft and leaned his head back to look in my general direction as we continued to float. It serves my purposes to be seen in a certain light.

By that, he meant his glamour. I had no idea what Crow’s true demonic form looks like. I’d had moments when I thought I caught a glimpse of tall wings and enormous curving horns through the frosted glass of a window or reflected in a passing surface, but I always shrugged it off as my imagination or a hallucination.

I focused my squinting gaze on him and tried to call on my supernatural vision powers to pierce his glamour. It didn’t work. He remained a mildly attractive, tanned but otherwise unremarkable man-shape. What do you really look like?

A demon. He chuckled and met my gaze. I still couldn’t see through his shades, but I could tell. He was absolutely locking eyes with me; playing chicken with my will to press the question.

Why won’t the reaper-vision let me see through your glamour?

What makes you think you can’t?

I pondered that while we floated through another circuit, sipping the remainder of my beverage slowly into my stomach. A couple of weeks before we’d left on vacation, I’d had my second close encounter with a reaper. I encountered them with Crow on a regular basis; however, one-on-one run-ins were rare. The first had been the night Paul had refused a swap. That reaper had bestowed the gift of a partial purge in exchange for a future request. I hadn’t exactly accepted the deal, but they hadn’t exactly given me the option.

The second had come after my introduction to Tara. Without any more of a choice in the matter, the reaper had bestowed a second gift. They lifted the veil over my vision into the Unseen world. I had, of course, passed out from the overload. Shortly upon waking, I’d begun to see the Unseen world all around me, a little at a time.

Since then, I’d learned to identify over seventy types of Unseen creatures and phenomenon. Most of them had learned to identify me as well. Still, if there was anything visible to identify human demons, or a demon or angel in their human forms, I had yet to see it. Nor had I seen Crow’s true aspect, as far as I knew.

I slurped noisily through my straw, and Crow lifted his hand to the ready. Would you like another? I shook my head and held out the glass. His poised hand twitched, and the glass evaporated.

"I think I might be ready for some food. Is it too early for the dinner buffet? I laid my hands over my middle and wobbled the skin over my sloshing stomach.

I believe they’re still offering the brunch menu. Crow sat up, again defying physics when his raft didn’t flip up behind him as he perched on its edge. He slid off the side and let the raft float on without him. He paced my raft with his hands on my knees.

I could do brunch. I offered him my hand and let him help me dismount. My own raft not only flipped up on its side; it submerged a foot or so and, when I hopped off, launched up behind me, catching a couple of feet of air and almost landing on my head.

Crow clucked as he caught the thing and shoved it away. Be careful, Bird. You were almost dinged by your dinghy.

Of course, I was. I rolled my eyes to give him the briefest side-eyed, withering glance. We made our way toward the nearest set of steps out of the water. I didn’t recognize the view. Which way to the food?

Crow scooped up my arm and tucked it into his elbow. Right this way, Little Bird. I believe they have just set out fresh pastries.

I cooed and let him guide me away, but, as we walked the meandering path toward the dining pavilions, I continued my surreptitious study of the demon at my side. I still couldn’t see anything past the glamour, and he’d never actually answered my question.

Chapter 2. Buffet

A picture containing silhouette Description automatically generated The dining pavilion arced high on tall, carved pillars. The sloped roofline sitting at odd angles, I’m sure, had more to do with engineering them to withstand tropical storms than aesthetics. It looked like an errant three sides of an aluminum tool shed had been blown there by just such a storm. Beneath the tragic mass, a crowd of resort guests mingled, laughed, and chattered to the accompaniment of a steel drum quartet. Crow whistled a jaunty tune, scooping up my hand in his as we mounted the ramp to the covered space.

Two long tables sat at right angles to each other. Tons of various foods were piled high across both. If the hot dishes weren’t enough, assortments of fresh fruits served as table decor. The whole display was so colorful as to make the other guests, in their flowers, stripes, and polka-dots, seem drab. The floral patterns reminded me of Neville and the office luau he’d thrown for us, complete with Hawaiian print shirts and grilled pineapple and spam sandwiches. I wondered idly if I’d ever associate him with anything else.

Crow pulled me beneath the pavilion where the scents of sunscreen, sweat, seafood omelets and pastries lingered in an almost palpable cloud. It wrapped itself about my head and shoulders as we made our way toward the food.

I tugged on his hand and turned rounded eyes up to him. Can I forego the alcohol-laced juices and just have an enormous mug of coffee? I lifted my chin and stretched my coffee senses to find the right place to begin.

Certainly. Crow already had a lock on the location of the coffee station and tugged me firmly in the opposite direction. I whimpered and he patted my hand on his arm. Hush now, Bird. Trust me. You do not want any of that. I’ll get you a cup of your favorite when we have made our selections.

I twisted my features into a frown sufficient to convey my displeasure.

He shot a grin at me; one of his wide and toothy smiles full of humor. In fact, I would like for you to choose a table with a good view of the crowd. I will join you with an assortment momentarily. He turned me toward the tables, covered in fluttering white tablecloths, gathered and tied around the central support beneath each to resist being blown away.

I nodded and skipped a step or two toward a round table in one corner of the dining space. With my back to the ocean, I had an unimpaired view of the people flocking from every direction toward the billowing scent-cloud of cooking foods. Chittering and laughing, a few whining, they were a menagerie of humanity.

I focused on the other guests’ zeitgeists, all some shade of grey or black. I searched for the blue glint of a convert, but none caught my eye. Most were sleek and burdened with small bundles of personal demons attached to and feeding from its tentacles. Personal demons, little shoulder imps which represented the person’s challenges, were being slowly revealed to me through my reaper vision gift. The first, during an ill-advised drinking excursion with coworkers, had been a web of lies. It had hung down the back of the bar’s bouncer, its tendrils like dew-covered spiderwebs encasing the man it beset. Not long after, I’d seen one of Tara’s. The red and green imp that reminded me of a cartoon elf had been her undoing.

It had swollen to more than human proportions before her end. I had one of the same type, but in less than one-sixth miniature. I hadn’t made any progress in determining what it represented. I could have asked Crow, but I found myself avoiding him as a source. I’m not sure I realized it at the time.

The guests in line were beset by an assortment of varying sizes, shapes, colors, and every other descriptor imaginable. A sky-blue ball, about the size of a golf ball, bounced on the end of a tentacle hanging down a small boy’s back. The child’s zeitgeist had a scaley, deep grey appearance, not quite black. The boy couldn’t have been more than three years old, and I puzzled over what could have had this effect on him at that young age.

Two slightly older, or at least taller, children stood between him and the man serving food onto their plates. They both had equally disturbing zeitgeists and their own besetments. The tallest, presumably oldest, child, a skinny girl in pigtails, had at least three tiny attachments, and her zeitgeist had a nubby protrusion where another tentacle grew in preparation for another personal demon.

I shook my head and let my eyes skim down the line. A woman and younger man, maybe her son, caught my eye. Her zeitgeist covered her like black tar down to her shoulders. Two nondescript little lumps hung from thin, taught tentacles down the front of her swimming attire. A third tentacle curved up from her back, as thick as my wrist, supporting another type of personal demon I had seen before.

The wormlike thing roved in a pattern of lines, tracing a foot-high square from the top of her shoulder. I had one of those. Mine was much smaller and occupied a space over my shoulder blade. I reached back, knowing I wouldn’t be able to feel it there, but still relieved when I only felt my own skin under the strap of my swimsuit.

I didn’t know, yet, what any of my personal besetments represented. Another consequence of allowing Crow to numb me with purges, I wasn’t fully aware of my own faults. A curiosity I didn’t question kept me focused on the pair, on the woman’s worm-thing. I squinted and considered moving to a closer table.

I didn’t see a face or any appendages. The ugly grey color resembled the ‘green’ of turned meat, but, when it looped back on itself, I caught glimpses of tender pink and gooey black. The turns were so sharp, the body of the thing scrubbed itself as it wound back and forth. Hers moved in an up and down pattern, where mine moved left and right. I watched it wind through several full passes to be sure. I didn’t know what might be significant.

The young man turned, holding a berry up to the woman’s lips. The suggestive use of the berry and her lips made a clear euphemism. Definitely not mother and son.

I noted one of his demons, and the other seven with it, twining themselves around the young man’s legs, wrapped around his waist; one of them laying stretched along his arm, its elbows on his shoulder, stretching to whisper into his ear. Each of the octuplets had large, viperous eyes and a reptilian forked tongue. They had bald, lizardish heads atop fuzzy bodies, all in shades of yellow and peach. I had seen one of these before as well, but only one.

These were Appetites, lusts for the carnal. Neville at work had one. A Sexual Appetite, tiny and solitary, Crow called it an abomination among demons. Apparently, Neville’s imp had quote, swallowed all her sisters, end quote. Crow had said a few other things as well, strongly implying that Neville had inappropriate thoughts about me. I refused to think about it. I wasn’t interested and acknowledging it would only cause trouble at work. The Appetites performed lascivious acts all over the man’s body, and I remembered the suggestions Neville’s imp had made. I turned away.

Crow arrived, a plate in each hand. As he sat, the plates multiplied and arranged themselves on the table along with a pitcher of mimosas and a pot of coffee. Anything of interest? He gestured with his fork and knife positioned above a thick steak covered with runny-yolked eggs.

I poured a cup of coffee for myself, eschewing for the moment the omelet before me, and sipped. Mm, that’s tasty.

Crow smiled, a much-diminished level of tooth this time. I’m glad you approve. I may have enhanced it somewhat. The tooth level increased, and I rolled my eyes.

You said you had an idea of what we might be able to do to avoid another delayed purge. What’s the idea?

Yes. I do have an idea, but I’ll need you to hear me out.

I sat back, content with my coffee. Alright. I’m listening.

He turned his gaze toward the line of people still buzzing like flies over the buffet tables. It occurs to me that the problem was not your adequacy in your roll.

I chuffed into my mug.

You are superb in your assigned roll. He dipped his chin and offered me a conciliatory nod. No, it is not even that the clients are unpredictable as they usually are not.

I considered and had to admit that he was right. The average person, if given the chance, would happily switch places with someone who seemed to have everything they themselves thought they lacked, particularly when the alternative was death. Paul had been the one and only exception we’d met in all our years at this job.

It is a matter of time, I believe.

Time? Yeah, I thought about it and nodded, okay. I can see that, but how are you going to get around the timing of the lists and all that? Crow got the names of our clients from the master-list of upcoming deaths, choosing them according