Gaby pushed to her knees and shoved the nude form away. Her skin crawled in revulsion, her stomach heaved.

  And another form appeared, this one missing half a face. The jaw was gone, one eye eaten away. Purplish welts and scabbed lumps covered the upper body. It came forward, dragging one useless appendage that might have been a leg in better times.

  Through her perception, Gaby knew that early abuse had depraved this soul, but that couldn’t play into Gaby’s actions. The abused often went on to abuse. Someone had to stop the cycle.

  She would be the one.

  A hard kick took out the only stationary knee, and the body slumped to the ground. Gaby half turned and kicked again, driving the vision to its back. Another kick and the body went as flat as something so crippled could.

  This soul had perpetuated a different kind of evil. It had robbed people of their livelihoods through fraud, stealing their homes and their life savings. And yep, like the others, it had spent its time alone, without visitors, without caring or concern from any other living soul.

  Appropriate.

  Satisfied, Gaby raised her foot—and stomped it down hard on the throat.

  Life drifted away.

  “Gaby?”

  Oh shit. No time now to puke.

  An awful fear rang in Mort’s voice.

  Had he seen it all?

  Why the hell hadn’t he gone back as she’d told him to?

  “Gaby, do you hear the sirens?” Above the fear, Mort’s tone was oddly gentle. “We need to go. I think Luther must’ve called in for help before he got hurt.”

  Sirens? Yes, in the deepest recesses of her mind, she did hear them.

  Proving an unrecognized courage, Mort carefully took her arm. “Please, Gaby. We have to go now.”

  “Luther…” It was an odd thing for her to concern herself with a victim. That wasn’t her job, never had been, and she didn’t really know what to do about it.

  “The sirens are coming for him, I’m sure of it. See his radio out there beside him? He’ll be okay.”

  Yeah, Mort was probably right. But first…

  She covered her mouth and ran from the alley to hurl. A garbage can, already filled with vomit, likely from the drunk she’d passed, served as good a place as any.

  Mort stood beside her, impatient but stoic. When her head cleared, he again took her arm. “We have to get rid of these clothes. And you’ll need to hide that knife somewhere just in case anyone saw you.”

  “The knife stays with me.” Confused and sick, Gaby focused on him. “Just what the hell are you doing?”

  “Helping you.” He looked around to make sure no one noticed them, then started her on her way. “It’s okay, Gaby.”

  Okay? How the hell could anything ever be okay? “Yeah? I’d like to know why you think so.”

  He put an arm around her, and a small smile appeared on his sallow face. “Because I finally understand. That’s why.”

  Rubbery knees refused to support her. Churning acid continu-ally tried to forge a path from her stomach out her mouth. She wanted to cry—but wouldn’t.

  “You should get away from me, Morty.”

  “With those creepy things running around? Forget it. It’s safer by you.”

  He couldn’t start thinking of her as his hero. “You’re dumber than I thought, Mort.”

  “I know.”

  She pierced him with her gaze, but he only looked around, worried and nervous. “We should probably get going.”

  The enervating effect of the kill waned, but she remained shaky and sick at her stomach. “If you stick by me, and either of us is seen, you’re fucked.”

  “It’d be tough to explain, that’s for sure.” He peered down a dark alley, then turned back toward her. “Come on. If we go home this way, we’re less likely to be seen by the cops.”

  No one in his right mind traveled the area along the back alleys.

  Not if he wanted to live.

  “Fine.”

  Together, they ventured along the rough brick wall to the very back of the narrow way, then traversed a low concrete wall. A skinny lane stretched along the backs of closed or empty businesses. This time of night, with only the muted drone of street noises out front and the occasional scratching of creatures that feasted off refuse, each footstep echoed a hollowed heartbeat.

  More buildings, in worse, more decrepit shape, lurked behind the lane. Ahead of them, yellowed rats’ eyes gleamed; druggies shot up; in the worst of the structures, homeless camped out.

  It’d be easy to get cornered. It’d be easy for someone to hurt Mort.

  If he was alone.

  Determined to protect him, Gaby got herself together and took the lead. “Try to be quiet.” Obsidian darkness swallowed the sight of doorways and blanketed all sound. Moonlight couldn’t find its way between the tall block walls and shingled roofs.

  They’d walked in silence for several minutes when Mort asked, his voice shivering, “Do you think more of those things are out here?”

  “No.” Broken glass crunched under her feet, nearly penetrating her flimsy soles. Something squishy found its way into the sandal and between her toes. With every nerve in her body drawn painfully taut, Gaby continued on. “But there are worse things.”

  “Worse than those freaks?”

  Enraged beyond rational reason, she turned on Mort and slammed him into the nearest brick wall. “They’re people,” she said from between her teeth. She choked on her impotence, the impossibility of the situation. “Damaged, sick, broken by the foulest disease. But still humans who, if they weren’t already tainted by a mangled past, would need our help.”

  “All right, Gaby.”

  The soft plea of his voice worked better than a sharp blow. She released him to rub the heels of her palms against her burning eye sockets. Salty tears would ease the pain. And make it worse. “They’re sick.”

  Mort’s hand touched her shoulder. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head and slapped away his hand. “Christ, don’t apologize to me when I’m the one attacking you!”

  “You’ve been through a lot.”

  So had he.

  Because of her.

  Unbearable. It was all becoming so unbearable.

  She turned and started on her way again. But now that he’d touched her with his sympathy, she couldn’t contain herself. So low that she could barely hear herself, she whispered, “I’ve fought monsters, Mort.”

  “I know.”

  He had no idea. “The problem now is that…” How to word it? “I killed, and yet, it wasn’t the monster I killed. There’s a creature, a real fiend, creating these beings and somehow forcing them to act. Or…” As she recalled the first evil being, the way he’d looked at that child, the mingling of pain and lust in his eyes, her thoughts tried to sort it out. “Maybe they’re just being allowed to act. Maybe the pain of the sickness has distorted their brains, unleashing something they’d once buried.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Gaby.”

  She didn’t want to stop again. Whether he comprehended or not, talking eased the conflagration of emotions.

  And so she talked on. “Some beings, some…afflictions, can bury their black ways. In the next life, they can’t escape retribution, but for this world it helps them survive, to avoid arrest and conviction. No true corruption can ever be fully sequestered, so pain, sickness, can bring out those dormant propensities.”

  “You think the people you…dealt with tonight, had hidden evil?”

  “I know they did. So did that grisly specter that Luther found a few days ago.”

  “Luther said the body was mangled.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That was you?”

  She heard no denouncement from him, only curiosity.

  “When I’m in the zone, I can’t control it. I do what feels right, what I can do, and sometimes it’s so bad that the body isn’t recognizable.”

  “You’re talking about when that strange thing happens to you?”

  When her features contort. The reality of that struck another blow, but Gaby fended it off. So she wasn’t as different from the bane of immorality as she’d thought. She’d deal with that as she’d dealt with everything else—the best way she knew how. “I thought that I’d removed the evil, but that was just a creature made by the evil. This isn’t something I’ve dealt with before. I don’t know where the next one might be—”

  “You’re sure there’ll be more?”

  Gaby nodded. “I don’t know where they originate, and that’s the key. But there are more.”

  Though she didn’t know how to reassure him, she could feel Mort’s fear. “I have to find the maker. I have to find the core of the degeneration.”

  Mort sidled closer to her, so close she could feel his nervous breath on her nape. “Do you know how to do that? How to hunt it?”

  “Not really. I’ve never had to before. Usually I’m sent to the evil. I don’t understand why I’m not being sent now.”

  Mort fell silent, but not for long. “Maybe the person doing all this is confused, and if he doesn’t know what he’s going to do, how could you know?”

  She said only, “God would know.” The raw edge of an exposed, broken pipe gouged the tender flesh above her elbow. Her skin tore; warm blood spilled.

  The injury burned, but not enough to distract her. “Careful.” She guided Mort around the obstruction, then used her sleeve to mop away the blood.

  “Thanks.” Mort bumped into her twice before they found another companionable rhythm. “Gaby? Is it at all possible that the people you killed aren’t evil? I mean, they were messed up for sure. But maybe they weren’t as evil as you’re talking about.”

  “They were.” Her thoughts wandered back through time. “Once, when I was younger—”

  “You’re young now.”

  If you went by experience, she was older than anybody should ever be. “I was in my late teens, I think, living in this rundown apartment. A woman next door to me killed her husband, and I didn’t know it.”

  “But I thought…”

  “I know. You think I’m some superhero or some such crazy shit. But I’m not, Mort, so don’t get yourself confused. That woman? She shot her husband for cheating on her. I overheard her telling the police that he’d come home drunk, and he told her she was looking old, that she turned him off. He told her he’d been fooling around with a younger woman. So she got their old thirty-eight pistol and she shot him in the head.”

  “A woman scorned, huh?”

  “I stood there, stunned because I hadn’t realized anything was happening. There’d been no pain, no calling. Later I realized it was because what happened was normal.”

  “You think so?”

  “She wasn’t evil incarnate. She was just a woman in love who had her pride hurt bad enough that she showed poor judgment. Before the cops took her away, she was already crying for her loss, wishing she hadn’t done it.”

  “So…” He trailed off, then regrouped. “If what you’re saying is that you only get that awful way when something truly evil is happening, then that means…”

  Gaby glanced back at him.

  He swallowed audibly. “Whatever that was after Luther was—”

  “The basest of evils. A true depravity.”

  “Like…” Eyes wide, he whispered, “The devil or something?”

  “Worse. A demonic being here on earth.” Thanks to the broken pipe, Gaby’s arm started a steady ache.

  “Then Luther is in real trouble.”

  “Yeah, I think so. But I’ll look out for him.”

  “How?” Mort practically screeched. “You can’t be with him every minute. You can’t stand guard over him. Luther isn’t the type of man who’d ever allow it, but he’s also not a man to believe in—”

  “Bogeymen? He’s learning.”

  “He’s my friend, Gaby,” Mort said with grave depression. “I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

  “Nothing will,” Gaby vowed, both to Mort and to herself. “Like I told you, if something really bad comes after him, I’ll know and I’ll…go to him. Wherever he is. And no, don’t ask me how. That’s just how it works.”

  “You instinctively know where to go?”

  “Sort of. Somehow, I just get there.”

  Given the silence, Gaby knew Mort didn’t understand, and was starting to ponder her sanity again.

  “Look. It’s like this. Information gets channeled through me. My body is just a conduit for the purpose. I end up where I need to be, and I do what needs to be done, and then I’m me again. End of story.”

  “I trust you.”

  He was such a dupe. “Great. Now take a deep breath. We’ll be home soon,” she reassured Mort, because she didn’t dare reassure herself. “You’ll be able to relax then.”

  “After tonight, I don’t think I’ll ever relax again.”

  His voice no sooner faded than they heard an odd but human sound. Flattening back against the wall, her hand already over Mort’s mouth, Gaby waited.

  A whimper.

  Slurping. Silent tears.

  Rank commands and foul enjoyment.

  She heard it all, and she understood.

  Rage, not God’s command, stirred her blood. Her eyes narrowed, and she stared through the abyss. “Stay here, Mort.”

  “Gaby, no, please.” Mort’s hands grasped at her shirt. “You don’t know who it is, if it might be the cops or another of those crazy people—”

  “Get a grip,” she hissed at Mort, impatient to intercede. “I’ll be right back.” She brushed him off and crept away, her knife in her hand, the injury in her arm forgotten. Up ahead, a dim glow shone from one building.

  The end of the alley.

  They’d be close to home, but she had work to do yet. No, God hadn’t called her for this one.

  But damn it, He should have.

  As Gaby stepped into the light, she saw a couple at the edge of the alley, in the shadows, but not really hidden. The woman knelt on the rough ground, her blouse mostly torn off, her face and upper arms red, scratched, and bruised.

  She was held captive close to the man’s body, her face shoved against his belly. Her cheeks hollowed out, her head bobbed.

  She sobbed again.

  As Gaby took in the scene, the man closed his eyes in release.

  Moaning in what Gaby interpreted as harsh pleasure, his body jerked obscenely. The woman tried to pull back, but he cruelly twisted his hand in her ponytail, using the hold like a leash, forcing her to perform on him.

  To swallow.

  The sight of it all, her comprehension, froze Gaby to the spot.

  The man slumped against the wall, his body lax. Released, the woman quickly scampered back.

  Tears tracked her cheeks. Her nose bled.

  Torn from her stupor, Gaby didn’t even stop to think about it; she allowed herself to react.

  In an instant, her knife whistled through the air—and sank with satisfying accuracy into the bastard’s shoulder.

  He contorted on a yelp of surprise, followed by a shout of outrage. He looked at the girl on her knees first, and seeing she wasn’t a threat, his gaze swung around until he found Gaby striding toward him. She wasn’t done with him, not by a long shot, and he must have sensed that.

  Ignoring her knife in his flesh, he tried to charge her.

  Good. Even though he was a miserable bully and rapist, he had strength and he wasn’t a coward.

  She wanted a fight. She wanted this fight.

  It felt right. It felt purposeful.

  For this, she could almost smile.

  “That’s right,” Gaby taunted. “Tangle with someone who isn’t cowed by you.”

  “Stupid bitch,” he thundered. “You’ll be damn sorry you—”

  He was in midthreat when Gaby’s heel connected with his chin. When his head snapped back, her elbow jammed into his throat. As he gurgled and gagged, she retrieved her knife, sliding it out of his dense flesh to press it tight, tight enough to cut, where he’d feel it most.

  The girl screamed, scrambling backward on hands and heels like a tipsy crab.

  Mort rushed out of the alley. “Gaby!”

  With so much fanfare, she wouldn’t have been surprised if a spotlight had suddenly shone down on her wretched head.

  Face close to the man’s, her fist keeping the knife blade snug against his groin, Gaby whispered, “You deserve to lose this, don’t you?” She pressed in enough to nick him, making certain he understood.

  “You’re insane,” he garbled, still suffering from the trauma to his throat.

  “You betcha. Insane enough that I’ll haunt your dreams for the rest of your life.”

  He looked into her eyes and shriveled back in fear.

  His impaired esophagus made him gasp for each shallow breath. Distress for his precious jewels kept his eyes wide and wild. Drool trickled from the side of his trembling mouth.

  Gaby enjoyed his reaction.

  She enjoyed herself in this role.

  “I’ll know what you do,” she told him. “What you think and what you want. If you ever again use force on anyone or anything, I swear to God, I’ll castrate you.”

  The man prayed, which amused Gaby. God wouldn’t help him. Not tonight.

  But then Mort grabbed her arm. “Gaby, please. You cut him bad and he’s bleeding. He could die.”

  A fog lifted, and Gaby became aware of everything. The sobs of the man, the worst sobs of the girl, Mort’s palpitating fear.

  “He deserves death.” But she jerked her knife away from him.

  It was really bloody now. And so was she.

  “Maybe he does,” Mort said, “but you don’t deserve his death on your hands.”

  Gaby caught her breath. Mort had stopped her for her sake?

  The man crumpled to the ground, drenched in a combination of sweat, blood, and more disgusting body fluids.

  Foul bastard.

  Repulsed, Gaby turned to look at the girl.