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Chapter 6

Kostas

W hen Carson finally left Phaze, Kostas was ready to drag his feet to his one-room apartment and sleep for twelve hours, minimum. There was a hunger ringing in his ears that meant nothing good. He’d need to feed soon—the siren way—and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

Never mind that he’d felt fine earlier in the night, and now, there was a thrum in the air that warned him of danger—same as the flick of a shark’s tail through water, the ripple felt by sirens a mile away, making him edgy.

Maybe it was just exhaustion, having to stay late. Maybe it was knowing that Carson had beef with Elrith, and he didn’t want to be anywhere near the middle of that clusterfuck.

Or maybe it was the sense that he’d made a misstep with that incubus—brought his own issues to the conversation. Just because he didn’t want trouble didn’t mean he had to be rude .

But whatever the case, his skin felt hot and dry, and he had the urge to fling himself into the ocean and swim until he couldn’t see the lights of Lyric anymore.

“You okay getting home?” he asked Katie as she paused and hunched over her cupped hands to light a cigarette.

She looked up at him, brown eyes sparkling with amusement. “I think I can make it, Lancelot. You good?”

Out of habit, Kostas had glanced both ways coming out of the bar. And there, down the alley, he caught eyes with the incubus from earlier. They weren’t close, exactly, so he couldn’t tell what was going on, but the incubus seemed to be struggling.

Katie didn’t notice. They were too far and it was too dark for mortal eyes to register the scuffle, but Kostas could see underwater. Seeing in the dark? No problem.

The threat buzzed at the base of his skull. Teeth pushed through his gums. Demons, vampires, they had little fangs. Sharp canines, for sure. But sirens were a different breed. Extra teeth everywhere, like a piranha.

He frowned, ducking his head and speaking through pursed lips to hide his razor-sharp teeth. “Yeah. Um, yeah. I’m good.”

The incubus disappeared into a building before he could make heads or tails of what had happened.

“See you Saturday?” he asked, voice muffled.

“See you,” she agreed as she turned and headed for home.

Kostas lingered for a few quiet seconds, then turned and walked toward where the incubus and his cohort disappeared. There was a thick metal door taking up most of the wall, and he raised his fist and knocked. The resounding clang went unanswered, and his frown deepened.

Okay, so maybe this was some fucked up incubus game, but that wasn’t for Kostas to figure out. He knocked again. No answer.

And, well, if he had a bad feeling, that still wasn’t his problem, right? There were public officials who helped with that kind of thing.

That was how, a quarter of an hour later, Kostas crawled out of his Lyft and onto the sidewalk in front of Lyric’s Extrasensory Policing Agency.

They didn’t come right out and say they dealt in supernatural cases, but how the fuck humans excused “Extrasensory” without questioning it was beyond him. Maybe the place looked like a bunch of psychic hack PIs, but he wound up sitting across the desk from one Captain Archibald Tart, and the fairy was as stone-faced as they came.

“Issue,” he barked, staring down at the legal pad in front of him.

Kostas had managed to swallow down all his teeth in the car, but he still felt off his game. This was exposed . If not to the world, then to a supernatural community he had no desire to participate in.

“I think I saw a—a kidnapping? Well, he’s not a kid. But someone was taken. Outside my workplace. Phaze. It’s a night club.”

“And what time did the event occur?”

“Twenty minutes ago, tops. I could take you to?—”

“And what can you tell me about the suspect?”

“There were a few. One was big. I—I think one might have had a gun?” There’d been a sheen in the dark, but that could’ve been anything, really.

Captain Tart looked up at him, his wide, craggy lips turned into a deep frown. “You think there was a gun?”

“I wasn’t that close. No one shouted, but, well, you know how it is.” Kostas waved his hand. Supernaturals didn’t bring humans into their problems. Shouting for help, well, it wasn’t really a thing if you had teeth and claws of your own.

“And what makes you think this person was taken, if you weren’t near enough to see clearly whether or not a weapon was involved?”

“He was drunk. He’d been at Phaze earlier.”

“And this is a supernatural problem?”

Kostas’s jaw clenched. Captain Tart was only doing his job, sure, but already, he felt like he was being dismissed.

“The guy they took—he’s an incubus. He came in with Elrith McKittack.”

That clinched it. Captain Tart leaned back in his seat and flipped the top sheets of paper back over the one he’d been writing on.

“Son, what you saw was an incubus joke. A little roleplaying, if you will. Trust me, they get into some weird shit.”

“This wasn’t that,” Kostas insisted. “He looked?—”

How had he looked, really? Upset. Even more bothered than he had when they’d argued in the club.

Kostas sighed. “You’re not even going to look into it?”

Captain Tart shrugged. “I’m sure Elrith will check in if there’s an issue he can’t handle on his own.” He sounded snide, like Elrith was the last person to come looking for help taking care of his problems.

Kostas sat there, mouth dry. This was Elrith’s problem. It was.

With a huff, he pushed out of his chair. “I guess I’ll just have to take this to him, then.”

“You do that, son.” Captain Tart snorted. “Let me know how it goes.”