The Dark Storm by Kris Greene Read Free Book Online Page A

twirling it like a baton. With every pass the wind picked up until he found himself standing in the center of a small storm. Lightning rolled up his legs and passed through his arms, like veins transporting blood. With all his might he hurled the trident at the creature. The creature shrieked as the trident buried itself in the hulk’s back and released its soul.
    Gabriel stood over De Mona with a strange look in his eye. The storm was gone, but he was changed somehow, almost as if he had aged since they’d met in the library. Reaching down with his free hand, he helped De Mona to her feet. Her skin felt a little rough, but otherwise she had returned to normal.
    “You okay?” he asked.
    “My throat is sore as hell, but I think I’ll live.” She massaged it for emphasis. “Neat trick.” She motioned towards the trident.
    “I didn’t do it. One minute I’m about to get my head chopped off, and the next I’m all fuzzy. I knew I was fighting, but it was like I was moving off instinct rather than courage. This won that battle.” He tapped the shaft twice on the ground as if he was trying to test its authenticity. The shaft vibrated and began to shrink. Within seconds it was the head of a fork again but had retained its luster. “Unreal.” Gabriel shook his head.
    “I got the feeling you ain’t telling me everything, Redfeather,” De Mona accused.
    “I could say the same. I don’t see a weapon on you, yet the thing that jumped you is dead.” He nodded towards the rotted corpse.
    She shrugged. “I got lucky.”
    Gabriel clearly didn’t believe her, but he didn’t press it. “You and me are definitely gonna do some talking, but not here and not now. With all the noise we made, thepolice are surely gonna come, and I really don’t think they’ll believe us about how these bodies got here.”
    De Mona looked around at the damage they’d caused. “Okay, you got that one. Where to?”
    “Harlem, to see my grandfather,” Gabriel told her, stuffing the fork down the back of his pants.

CHAPTER SIX
     
    The first patrol car had barely been at the scene for five minutes when it was joined by a midnight blue Dodge Viper. The officers hadn’t had a chance to call the crime in yet, so they knew it couldn’t have been one of theirs. The senior officer on the scene went to tell the driver to move along, but the door swung open before he had a chance.
    The man who emerged from the vehicle was tall, with an athletic build. A subtle wind played with the hem of his leather jacket, exposing the two Colts holstered under each arm. If you looked closely you could see the runes carved into the barrel and grip of the one on his left. His face was a smooth chocolate color, with an angular chin and a wide nose that he had inherited from his Guyanese mother. Though there was no sun, he wore heavily tinted shades over his eyes. Neatly twisted locks were pulled into a tight ponytail, which hung down his back. A lit cigarette dangled from his full lips, sending flecks of ash floating on the breeze. He was quite handsome, yet most people tended to forget his face right after seeing it, which was how he preferred things. Secrecy was his edge. Flicking his cigarette away, he approached the crime scene.
    “Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to get back in yourvehicle and move along. This is a police matter.” A chubby cop with a beet-red face blocked his path.
    “It’s cool, man. I’m with the department.” Rogue flashed his identification.
    The chubby officer squinted to read the name beneath the blurred picture. “ ‘Jonathan Rogue,’ ” he read aloud. “I’ve heard of you. You aren’t a cop; you’re some kind of bounty hunter or something.”
    Rogue grinned. “
Or something
, that’s cute.”
    Rogue’s name was notorious amongst law enforcement in New York. He had once been a third-generation cop, who had a promising future with the Dade County narcotics division down in Florida until his temper got him suspended. A