"Ugh, I hate ghouls," I cursed under my breath, heeled combat boots slapping against the wet pavement. The rain was relentless, drumming against the cracked asphalt, washing the city's filth into clogged storm drains.
I rounded the corner of a dingy back alley, pulling my Aetherion Mk II phaser from my thigh holster and squinting into the darkness. The neon glow from a half-dead sign flickered against a puddle, casting sickly green ripples across the waterlogged street.
"Where are you, you bastard—there!"
A dark shape darted ahead. I fired twice, the stun blasts hissing through the rain before slamming into a dented dumpster. The impact sent a sharp, metallic screech echoing through the alley, and a trio of rats scurried straight at me.
"Oh my gods, ew, ew!" I side-stepped onto my toes, barely avoiding them before glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one heard my embarrassingly high shriek.
I released a nervous laugh, holstering my weapon and pulling my high pony tighter as I took off down the alley. "Get your shit together, Lacey. You're a badass, remember?"
Heck yeah, I was.
I was Lacey Sterling, Vanguard Police Force's mostly newly minted detective. I was a protector of the people of the City of Ebonspire. Upholder of justice. Vanquisher of evil. I was—
I was stuck.
Like, literally.
The heel of my boot had sunk into a rusted sewer grate, sending me tumbling down to rain-slick sidewalk. My black leather bodysuit—fresh from the dry cleaners—landed with a mortifying squelch.
A low cackle echoed through the alley, barely distinguishable from the distant rumble of a hover car backfiring. My ghoul. Watching me struggle.
I yanked my foot once. Twice. "Oh, curse it all to Hell."
With a growl, I flicked a switchblade from my munitions belt and pried the heel off one boot, then the other. Pushing to my knees, I wiped the rain streaming down my face and took off down the alley once more.
Whoever designed these boots as standard issue obviously didn't have Ebonspire's safety top of mind.
It was bad enough that regular crime was on the rise—pick-pocketing, vandalism, the occasional back-alley brawl. But a string of murders targeting career criminals? That was different.
Over the past few weeks, bodies had been turning up in gutters and abandoned buildings—every single one of them a certified scumbag. Drug traffickers. Arms dealers. Enforcers who'd broken bones for a living. The kind of people the world wouldn't miss.
And yet, I couldn't shake the unease curling in my gut.
Murder was murder. No matter how vile the victim, no matter how much better off the city might be without them, there were rules. Laws. Justice had to be served the right way—not by some masked executioner hiding in the shadows.
The whole thing reeked of the Crimson Syndicate.
Which meant I needed to take this ghoul down. Now.
I rounded another corner and spotted the ghoul darting toward an old, decaying industrial building. Rust streaked down its moss-covered walls, and shattered windows gaped like jagged teeth.
I fired.
One shot grazed its shoulder. It shrieked, stumbling before disappearing into the darkness.
I skidded to a stop, heart hammering. Time to end this.
I hit the button on my wrist-mounted ShadowLink comm unit, speaking into my sleeve. "I've got the perp trapped. He's in some crusty old warehouse—looks like a defunct energy mill? I'm about to head in."
"Copy that," Isla—my counterpart and faerie-tech-sister—echoed back. "Watch your six, Lace. I've got backup on standby."
I sprinted through the night, gripping my Mk II tighter. This part of Ebonspire was nothing but a graveyard of forgotten industry—half-collapsed buildings, rusted-out street lamps flickering like dying fireflies, the occasional corpse dumped in an alleyway when someone pissed off the wrong people. Not that anywhere in this city was safe these days.
The warehouse entry loomed ahead, massive double doors hanging askew on broken hinges. I shoved one side open. It groaned in protest, screeching like some kind of wounded beast.
Inside, the air reeked of damp rot, old oil, and something far worse—coppery, putrid, the unmistakable stench of death. Water dripped from cracks in the ceiling, pooling in a large, shadowed puddle at the base of a ceramic silo. To my left were stairs up to a second storey cat walk and to my right were a row of shelves filled with long forgotten crates of… was that bone?
I stepped forward—only for something brittle to shatter beneath my boot.
Kneeling, I scooped up the jagged shards of what was—yep—definitely a skull. "Well, that's not creepy at all," I muttered, forcing a laugh before chucking them back down. With a deep breath, I wiped my hands on my leather suit and pushed to my feet.
A ley line mill. One of the old ones, back from when the Fae ran the show around here—because nothing says follow-my-rule-or-else like stuffing power into dead things—power only they could wield.
These days, magic was stored in leycrystals—gems like moonshale, necrolite, and whatever else could be mined from nearby mountains. They worked like batteries, drawing energy from the veins crisscrossing beneath Ebonspire to power everything from hover cars to refrigerators. Anyone could use them, no matter the species. Some—mostly the uptight showoffs in Uptown—even stitched them into clothing or set them into jewelry. Practical, accessible, and way less horror-movie chic—perfect for a city as diverse as Ebonspire.
But in this rotting husk of a warehouse? The energy was stale, warped. Lingering like an old ghost. Even as a boring 'ole human—a magicless stonebound who had to rely on leycrystals—I could still feel it. A hum just beneath my skin, like static before a storm.
Bang!
I whirled around as the warehouse door slammed shut, reverberating through the cavernous space like a gunshot.
A shrill giggle echoed from the dark.
I cursed under my breath, easing my finger onto the trigger as I moved deeper into the warehouse. "Come out, you bastard. It's time to play."
Speaking of Fae, where was their damn High Council when you needed them? Probably off in their fancy district sipping moonpetal tea while the rest of the city went to hell.
What happen to order? To due process and jurisdiction? To the organizations of this city standing together instead of bickering like pixies at a drama club audition? The Fae High Council had more than enough resources to take out this ghoul—and perhaps even dismantle Crimson entirely—but alas, Ebonspire's safety had dwindled its way into the hands of a rookie detective.
Sexy hands, I might add. Capable. Dainty. And with freshly manicured—
I spun, training my Aetherion Mk II on a pair of glowing red eyes peering out from a shelf several paces away. "Surrender or I'll shoot!"
The ghoul cocked its head, its thin lips pulling into a too-wide grin.
Now that I had a good look at it, the thing was even worse than I expected. Gaunt, its grayish skin stretched tight over jutting bones. Its limbs were long, too long, like something had pulled and twisted them just past the edge of human proportions. Its clothes—if you could call them that—were ragged scraps, damp with filth and what I was really hoping wasn't blood.
And its face… Gods. That face. Hollow cheeks, sunken eyes swimming in some kind of manic light. A grin carved into its mouth, lips peeling away from jagged, yellowed teeth. "Well, aren't you a tasty snack," the ghoul whispered, voice wet, bubbling—like something was rotting inside him.
I swallowed hard, training my gun on his chest. "By the authority of Mayor Selene Duskborne and Chief Inspector Rowan Hale of the Vanguard Police Force, I place you under arrest for murder!"
"Murder?" the ghoul squealed like a possessed meat sack with a personal vendetta."No, no, little girl. I saved them."
I swallowed hard. "You didn't save anyone. You butchered four people."
"My friends. They were better off dead," he giggled, rocking back and forth like a child trying to comfort itself. "Better off with me than with them."
"Them?" My pulse kicked up. "Who's 'them'?"
A rustle sounded behind me. I cast a quick scan over my shoulder, scanning the shadows. An accomplice? A trap, perhaps? Or maybe more rats—
The ghoul lunged, claws outstretched.
I threw myself sideways, hitting the ground hard as I fired off a shot. The blast sizzled past its shoulder, barely grazing it. Fantastic. My aim was really winning awards tonight.
If I'd just finished my lethal force certification instead of arguing with my academy instructor about how it violates the democratic principles of proportionality, this ghoul would be on the ground by now. But instead, I'd left home with a stun phaser. Yay, justice.
The ghoul hissed but kept coming, red eyes flashing wild and hungry, like it didn't even feel pain.
I scrambled backward, firing again. "Who are you working for? Are there other bodies?"
The ghoul shrieked with laughter. "They're gone! Gone, gone, gone! No more whispers, no more hands reaching inside!" He clawed at his own face, nails digging into his skin, leaving deep, oozing scratches.
I swore. This ghoul wasn't a lead on Crimson, was he? He was just some rabid defector trying to…to what? Claw his way through the dregs of whatever dead-end deal had left him on the run? Save his criminal buddies from death by a more violent hand?
Then his eyes locked onto me, and his whole body twitched. "But you—ohh, you're still here." I barely had time to react before he was on me.
We hit the ground hard, rolling in a violent mess of limbs, snarls, and me cursing like a sailor. My Aetherion phaser flew from my grip, skidding across the slick floor and into the shadows. I gasped as his claws raked my arm, burning like acid where they touched. Magic. Feral, unfiltered, and ugly.
My munitions belt pressed against my waist—a reminder. I gritted my teeth, yanked my knife free, and slashed—catching him across the stomach. We rolled again, snarling, grappling, the putrid scent of decay oozing from his skin.
I shoved the blade to his throat. "Tell me where the bodies are, or I swear I'll—"
The bastard just grinned wider. "You'll see soon enough."
Then cold magic slammed into me, hurling me backward. My spine hit the concrete pillar with enough force to send stars exploding behind my eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake."
I was up in an instant, but before I could move, an invisible force yanked me off my feet. My body lifted into the air, an unseen hand wrapping tight around my throat. Spots danced in my vision. My lungs burned.
The ghoul staggered forward, arms twitching like a marionette. "Don't fight it," he cooed, voice warbling, disjointed. "It's worse if you fight."
The ghoul stalked closer, his rancid breath rolling over me in waves. Then came the worst part—the sound. A thick, wet smacking, like he was salivating.
Oh, hell no.
I thrashed, clawing at the unseen force crushing my windpipe. "The democratic constitution of Ebonspire—states that murder of an officer—of the law, accidental or—otherwise, is subject to immediate detainment—and execution, pending tribunal review," I forced out, each word a strained gasp. "Pleas of instability, insanity—or magical overwhelm—do not constitute a viable—excuse."
Not that this ghoul looked like he cared. His grin stretched wide—too wide. Yeah, he was definitely crazy.
His papery fingers clamped around my neck, and suddenly the magic gave way. My full body weight dropped into his grip, his claws pressing into my skin.
Okay.
This was really not what I had planned for my first big case. "Get off me, you slimy—"
Heat flashed through the air. A long blade—chased by thick black flames—cut clean through the ghoul's arm, sending it flopping to the ground like a discarded chicken wing. The creature shrieked and stumbled back, clutching the ragged stump.
I collapsed, coughing, and pushed up onto my elbows. What the hell?
A low, lazy drawl drifted from above me. "Need a hand with that interrogation, sweetheart?"
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