His Name Was Death (Dead Man's Tale Book 1) by J. Eric Hance Page B

overtly sexual about her, and yet she exuded a strong, undeniable allure.
    The Sight revealed…more.
    Superimposed over her clothing was a skimpy negligee; had she worn nothing else, it would leave little to the imagination. Two small white horns protruded from the woman’s head. A long, slender phantom of a tail swished lazily behind her.
    The sight was so unexpected, it took a moment for my mind to process it all.
    Panic then flared.
    “Hi,” she said, smiling brightly. “I’m Emma, your cute and friendly next door neighbor.”
    She extended her hand.
    I took a nervous step back.
    Emma frowned slightly, sensing my apprehension. “See, this is typically the part where you shake my hand and tell me your name. I could just call you Reaper, I suppose; do you have any other name?”
    I fled back into my apartment, Joshua forgotten, and slammed the door. I slid to the floor, my back barring the entry…just in case.
    Elliott approached tentatively. “Is everything all right?”
    “The woman across the hall,” I stammered, “she’s a…a…a…”
    “A demoness,” Elliott offered helpfully.
    “Yes.” I desperately wanted to swallow, but my mouth was far too dry.
    He settled on his haunches and nodded. “A succubus, I believe, to be completely accurate—a seductress, a jezebel—a female demon that uses sexuality to tempt men into sin. Filthy job for an Agent.”
    I jerked. Right, of course…just an Agent, like me, only…
    Only a freaking demon.
    I shivered. “Elliott, how often would you find two Agents in the same building?”
    Elliott dipped his head in another of his shrugs. “Fairly often; to be honest, I would be surprised if you are the only two here. The landlord is an old, blind Chinese man who likes rent paid in cash and asks very few questions. It is an ideal location for your kind.”
    So, just a horrendously unfortunate coincidence.
    Or, maybe, it was something else entirely.
    “Do you think it’s safe?”
    Elliott looked at me, confused. “Safe?”
    “Living across the hall from…her?”
    “Well,” Elliott said, pondering, “she is just an Agent, like yourself. Unlike you, though, she is an Agent of Evil. I would advise strong caution, but if she has no reason to be your enemy I cannot imagine there is any need to worry.”
    If she has no reason…that was just perfect.
    Chris had warned me the full might of Hell was already on the hunt.
    And that they would find me.
    But I doubt he realized a part of Hell’s “full might” lived right across the hall.

VII
    Red and Black
    Michelle sits slumped forward on the corner of the bed. Her jeans and t-shirt lie crumpled on the floor; her bra, unclasped, hangs loosely from her arms. She has the look of a broken doll, dropped by a distracted child.
    Normally beautiful eyes, wide in shock, sit sunken in a face drained of color. Michelle’s dark, rich brown skin is unnaturally pale. Both hands are pressed to her abdomen, just below the bare left breast; blood, thick and red, spills over them.
    Red so dark, it’s almost black.
    I go numb, unable to comprehend the scene before me. My body reacts without direction, lurching into the room toward her.
    “Michelle!”
    Her head turns slowly, through a series of small jerks…driven by reflex more than intent. A blank stare misses me completely, as if I am invisible. She focuses with a lurch, features flooding with concern.
    Apparently unable to speak, she emphatically mouths a single word.
    Run!
    Two pops sound from the dark. Despair registers clearly in Michelle’s eyes; a thick, deep red fluid splashes across her body and stains the bedding.
    It looks like blood.
    It isn’t hers.
     
    A white hot, blinding flash inside my eyes split across the dream, tearing it apart. I lurched into a sitting position, all at once awake, disoriented — but thankful to leave my nightmares behind .
    The scene was strange at first…unfamiliar. Blinds were drawn over the room’s only window; the dim light filtering