Evil Ways by Justin Gustainis

over my objections. I'd never even heard of this Occult Crimes Unit, and didn't see what good a fucking consultant was going to do the investigation, anyway. But my boss wanted to be seen doing something above and beyond the usual investigative routine, and maybe shut the damn politicians up for a while."
    "Uh-huh. And you're telling me all this why, exactly?"
    "Because during the course of that investigation, I saw some stuff that shook my assumptions about the way the world is, about what kind of shit really goes on, sometimes."
    "Black magic, you mean," Morris said.
    "Yeah, and the other kind, too —white magic, the kind your girlfriend practices."
    "Libby's not my girlfriend. We work together, that's all."
    "Whatever. Thing is, that case changed the way I look at the world. And when it was over, I took a chance, a big one. Wrote up a confidential, 'Eyes Only' report for my boss, and told what really happened. It was pretty different from the official report I'd already turned in."
    "I can imagine," Morris said. "Is Jack Crawford still in charge over there?"
    "Nah, he died a few years ago. Heart attack. I work for Sue Whitlavich now."
    "Really? I've heard of her. Read her book on serial killers when it first came out. Seems like a real smart lady."
    "Like a whip. And a good thing, too. All those brains means she's more open-minded than a lot of people at the Bureau, even some in Behavioral Science. So, she read my confidential report, called me in, and we had a long talk."
    "And the fact that you've still got your shield means that she didn't decide you were crazy."
    "It means more than that, Morris. It means whenever the Bureau stumbles across something real hinky, they give it to Behavioral Sci. And Sue usually gives it to me. And she doesn't ask.too many questions, long as I get results."
    "Sounds like we're finally getting to the heart of the matter," Morris said. "So you're here, in L.A., and in my room, and you're in a big hurry, because…"
    "Because somebody's killing kids again. Only this time, it's worse."

    Gunther Krause slipped into the abandoned house through the back door a few minutes before sunrise. There were stories that the undead could take the form of mist that could be directed anywhere they wished to go. If that were true, Krause had yet to figure out how to manage it, which was a pity. It would have made his existence much easier.
    Still, he had little cause for complaint. He had been using this place as his daylight refuge for two months now, and it had served him very well. The structure had been condemned as unsafe, so no one came here, even stupidly adventurous children.
    Krause would not have minded a visit from some children —but only after dark, when he was able to receive them properly.
    As he made his way through the decrepit living room, Krause glanced down at his shirtfront. Damn, bloodstains again. And I thought I was being so careful tonight. Well, looks like a new shirt for Gunther. Maybe I'll take it from my next meal, before I open him up to feed.
    Krause was four paces from the basement door when he suddenly realized he was lying on the floor. A moment later, the pain hit him — a searing, merciless agony at the base of his spine that only one thing could have caused. Silver.
    He heard them then, the sounds of boot heels crossing the uneven wooden floor. A few seconds later, the owner of the boots came into view. Krause didn't really need to breathe anymore, but he gasped, nonetheless. He had in an instant taken in the black hair, the pallor, the scar along an otherwise beautiful, if hard, face. The woman's shirt and pants were black, to match the boots. In one hand she held the still smoking, silenced .25 automatic that she had used to fire a silver bullet into his spine.
    Through teeth clenched tight in pain, Krause managed, "They say you don't… exist. A legend… a myth, no more."
    The woman let a tiny smile appear on her face. "And now you know better," she said, in a