Depths: Southern Watch #2 by Robert J. Crane Read Free Book Online Page A

had been sustaining. A slow trickle of treats to keep him going.
    Gideon slipped out of bed, the hotel sheets spotted through with burns like a thin slice of Swiss cheese. He knew others of his kind; death was a call for them. A yearning to be around the end of life, to feed on the misery of the souls leaving it. His kind gravitated toward wars, battlefields, and hotspots like carrion birds to the dead. He was the only one here, though. So far, anyway.
    It had been tough to leave Chicago, especially with things going so well in the city. He’d had a steady diet there, enough for his needs. Some of the meals had been truly beautiful, moments of passion he would treasure for all time.
    Gideon opened the curtains and left the sheer panel hanging over the window in place. He stared out across the dark parking lot of the Sinbad motel at the street. Rain was coming down, lit by the lampposts lining the roads. He could see the dark ripples hitting the puddles throughout the lot.
    He wondered, with the Tul’rore dead, how long he’d have to wait for his next meal. He could sense it when demons got burned, but it was a blissless feeling. It didn’t tantalize and thrill him the way it did when a human went. Demons simply passed through the veil and went back to the nethers; humans could be stopped, could linger and be savored. They had flavor, texture, misery.
    He sighed and stared out at the motel parking lot, letting his hand drift lower. He could feel the pressure building inside, but there was nothing to do for it. Not yet. Not without death.
    He sighed and went back to sit on the bed, cool sheets against his naked body, the smell of the singed cloth still hanging in the air. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a rumble of thunder and hoped it was a good omen.
     
    * * *
     
    The whole heavens had started to pour down on Arch just as he was pulling into the parking lot of his apartment building. The night was liquid and splattering across the windshield of the Explorer in thick drops, drenching everything around him as he stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind him. He took off at a run for the stairs. Then he cursed himself for a fool and altered his course, toward the ground-level unit on the opposite side of the building. His shoes splashed on the wet ground as runoff started to accumulate in shallow puddles.
    He fumbled with his key as he reached the ground-level apartment. It was one of eight in the building, and not the one he’d been living in two weeks ago. Two weeks ago he’d been upstairs, in number six. But that had been before a bunch of meth-head demons had broken down his door and smashed the place to pieces. There were holes in the wall, a sink and countertop shattered. Basically an entire bathroom remodel already underway.
    He’d been surprised at the grace with which the landlord, Gunther Sweeney, had taken the whole thing. Sweeney was an older man in his fifties, German, with a thick mustache turned grey. He’d looked around with Arch at his side, pronounced the whole thing durcheinander , and submitted the claim to insurance. When Arch had pressed, Sweeney let him move into the unoccupied unit without complaint. It worked.
    Arch’s key hit the lock and he turned the handle with gentle pressure. The door swung open and Arch stepped into a mirror image of his own apartment, everything a perfect opposite save for the missing wall hangings and the countless boxes that were still unpacked since the move. He shut the door behind him as quietly as he could, wondering if Alison was about. The lights were on, but that meant nothing; lately she kept the lights on when she slept.
    He stood paused in the entry alcove, listening, to see if he could hear her. Nothing. After a moment he laid his keys on the small table in front of him and turned to look into the living room/kitchen area. He caught a glimpse of long blond hair on the couch, and realized she was just sitting there. The sound of the rain tapping