Hotter Than Helltown: An Urban Fantasy Mystery (Preternatural Affairs Book 3) by S.M. Reine Read Free Book Online

a body shop, their shared fences tagged with enough spray paint to make the wood a half-inch thicker.
    The sign for the soup kitchen was clean, though. It was a nice big cross with a white cloth draped over its arms, like it was inviting new arrivals to come in for a hug. I didn’t think the neighborhood toughs were sparing the crucifix out of kindliness. There was a paint can on the sidewalk next to it and the cross looked damp.
    They didn’t care about the fencing, but the sign had been repainted recently. Probably earlier that morning.
    It also didn’t escape my notice that the soup kitchen was only three blocks from the border of Helltown.
    The trio of volunteers cleaning the yard looked like they were humans dressed in Wal-Mart specials, not demons. I caught a glimpse of some of the mess before it vanished into the depths of a bag: beer cans, a couple needles, empty bags of chips. Ordinary junk. Nothing infernal or occult.
    One of the men acknowledged me with a smile as I headed up the steps. His eyes were brown, not black, and the teeth he flashed weren’t fangs, though a couple had been replaced with gold caps. Definitely human.
    “Looking for someone?” he asked. Guess I didn’t look like I was coming in for a meal with an ironed suit and the badge clipped to my belt.
    “Whoever’s in charge,” I said.
    “Then you want Sister Catherine. You’ll know her when you see her.”
    I flashed a smile in return. “Thanks.”
    The front door was propped open. As hot as it was outside, it was even hotter within, and so muggy that it was hard to breathe. Dusty ceiling fans didn’t do anything to move the air around.
    Most of the interior walls had been knocked out to make a big dining room, and the remaining surfaces had been hand-painted with vibrant murals. All religiously themed. There were sheep and a serene bearded white guy shepherding them on one wall, a childishly rendered version of the Last Supper on the other side, and a pleasant forest behind the serving line.
    Folding tables lined the peeling linoleum floor. Every seat was full and the line for food stretched almost all the way back to the door. I had to sidle past a young, haggard-looking couple to even fit inside.
    It was pretty obvious why Jay Brandon and his mom had been volunteering here. The two people serving food couldn’t keep up with the demand, especially since they were running low. The banging coming from the kitchen made it sound like the cook was struggling to prepare more.
    I hung back in the corner to watch everyone. If I’d come looking for suspicious types, I’d sure found more than enough of those. Lots of people with track marks and meth teeth. Lots more with darting eyes, shaking hands, scraggly hair. Between the hundred people eating or waiting to eat, they’d probably had all of a dozen showers in the last month.
    But Jay hadn’t been killed by a druggie—at least, not this kind of druggie.
    I sidled past the tables and headed for the food line.
    One of the volunteers stepped away, wiping her hands clean on a towel. She looked like a nun type. Her hunched body was swathed in something resembling black robes, and her hair was tucked under a scarf. I caught her heading into the kitchen.
    “Sister Catherine?” I asked.
    She looked startled by the question. “Catherine’s doing fundraising at a church event. I’m Mary.”
    Damn . “Know when she’ll be back?”
    “Just a few minutes, I’m sure.” Her pale blue eyes flicked to the badge on my belt, then to my face. “Can I help you in the meantime?”
    “If you’ve got a minute, maybe you can.”
    “I have a minute if you don’t mind helping in the kitchen,” Mary said.
    Cooking? Me? For these people? “I’m pretty busy this morning, ma’am.”
    “Aren’t we all?”
    She vanished through the door, and I followed.
    The rest of the house might have been a wreck, but the kitchen was spotlessly clean, if outdated. The appliances were so old that Pops could have