Dance of Damned

Red and blue lights flashed against the white walls of the two-story house.

The immaculate landscaping, the pristine white facade, and the marble fountain adorned with tiny cupid figures were all bathed in the ominous glow of the police car lights.

The crime scene investigators and police vehicles alone were enough to tell me this family wasn’t as “perfect” as I’d initially thought.

But let’s set all of that aside for now: my very presence here was proof enough. I’m a Nexus. Someone who can connect with the energy of people, enchanted objects, or creatures. This connection allows me to trace their essence, energy, or imprints.

While it’s a rare ability, it doesn’t exactly make me the “most powerful painkiller on the market.” Magical powers are classified into four levels, and I’m only at the “dawn level,” capable of basic spells. Not that anyone bothers using that fancy term.

People prefer other names: Mediator, Tracker, Energy Whore, Witch Leftover… The only thing people seem to be creative about is coming up with demeaning nicknames. After working for both sides—humans and monsters—you start asking the real question: Who’s the real monster?

I walked toward the house, scanning my surroundings in the hope of spotting a familiar face. Just outside the house, a female police officer stood with a weary expression, watching her colleague vomit onto the grass. Crime scene technicians in white suits emerged from the house, their faces pale and drained. Two officers stood silently by the driveway, smoking cigarettes with their backs to the house, their eyes wide open.

Uh-oh… Things didn’t look good. Whatever awaited me inside filled me with both curiosity and an overwhelming desire to turn around and leave quietly.

At that moment, Lieutenant Parker stepped out of the house. Our eyes met. I sighed softly and walked toward him, the clicking of my heels echoing through the night. His gaze swept over me from head to toe, his expression unreadable.

I raised my hand before he could make a comment and said, “If you want me to wear more serious clothes, you’ll need to schedule an appointment, Lieutenant.”

The smile that spread across his face softened the stern expression in his piercing blue eyes.

Parker’s towering 6’4” frame wasn’t built in a gym but rather sculpted by the physical discipline of a lifetime in the military. You could tell he was in his late forties not just by his graying hair but by the deep lines etched into his face from years of stress. His still-dark eyebrows arched as his gaze flicked to my trench coat.

I knew it was too thick for a warm July evening. Arriving at a crime scene in a red cocktail dress wasn’t exactly on my to-do list, but neither was being summoned by the police in the middle of the night. When Sam called me, I’d been at my best friend’s fiancé’s bachelor party. Gabriel—one of my closest friends—had practically forced me to go, convinced it would be a good idea for me to bond with the bride-to-be.

Parker said nothing, but the spark of amusement in his eyes told me he had a witty remark in mind. If he’d shared it, we might’ve both laughed. But tonight wasn’t a night for laughter. Sweating in the heat while being dragged to a crime scene, I would’ve much preferred to be in my silk sheets. I scowled and followed Parker silently.

We entered the house.

Passing through a grand hall paved with massive Italian marble, I gestured toward the crystal chandelier.

“If I said one of its bulbs costs as much as my salary, I wouldn’t be exaggerating, would I?” I asked. “Who lives here?”

Before Parker could answer, a cough echoed from the top of the stairs.

Marcus Halloway—Sergeant Marcus Halloway—was figuratively and literally looking down on me. It wasn’t surprising to see him here. Halloway’s arrogance had practically become a tradition. For two years, he’d been lurking in the corners of my professional life, a perpetual thorn in my side, tirelessly trying to catch my mistakes.

I never understood why he hated me so much, but I’d turned his antics into an art form: he would try to drive me crazy, and I would stay calm, leaving him frustrated. I always came out on top.

At the top of the stairs, he leaned casually against the banister in his usual theatrical manner, a smug smile plastered across his face. “Well, well,” he said, his eyes trailing over me. “A red dress and heels, huh? Making a stylish entrance to the crime scene, I see.”

I resisted the urge to tug at the edges of my trench coat and instead fixed a faint smile on my face. In the past, comments like this would have irritated me. But now? No. Marcus Halloway’s efforts were too predictable to bother me.

“Thank you, Sergeant. Do we owe this refined fashion critique to your impeccable taste?” I replied, my voice laced with sarcasm, continuing to follow Parker without sparing Marcus a glance. I knew he enjoyed provoking me, and I also knew nothing frustrated him more than his inability to get under my skin. I could feel his irritation simmering.

“Hope the heels don’t make climbing the stairs too hard,” Marcus added from behind me, his tone dripping with mockery so obvious it was hard to ignore.

Without turning to face him, I replied coldly, “Don’t worry, Marcus,” deliberately emphasizing his name. “I’ve learned to stay on my feet in far tougher situations than this.”

A brief silence followed. I could practically hear him scrambling to come up with a comeback that wouldn’t land. These moments always brought me satisfaction because my indifference to his attempts was far more effective than engaging in a direct confrontation.

**Eve: 1. Marcus: 0.**

At the last step, Parker gestured for me to go ahead. Along the dimly lit corridor, closed doors lined both sides. I noticed Parker stopping at the first door, his hand resting on the handle, as he glanced back at me.

“Ready?” he asked. His voice was as professional as ever, but there was an underlying tension. I nodded and opened the door.

The moment I stepped inside, the cold air and the sharp smell of shattered glass hit me.

The first thing I noticed was the tiny glass shards scattered across the room. One of the windows had been smashed, and the wooden frame bent outward. “The window’s broken,” I muttered to myself. Leaning closer, I examined the frame. “It’s like something—or someone—jumped out...”

“Rich kid,” Marcus said from behind, his tone distant. “Look at those gaming rigs. Even the chair costs a fortune. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

Sliding on my gloves, I turned to Marcus. Time to switch to professional mode. “Wonder about what?” I asked.

“How a teenager who had everything handed to him on a silver platter ends up face down on his bed… half a body,” he replied, nodding toward the corpse. “In a house built like a fortress, no less.”

I didn’t respond. The boy’s body lay face down. The upper half rested on one side of the bed; the lower half… wasn’t there. The bed was drenched in blood, and at first glance, the red stain looked like a pattern, but it was horrifying.

For a moment, my brain refused to process what I was seeing. My steps faltered.

No matter how many times you see something like this, your mind takes a moment to catch up. “Damn…” I whispered, my eyes scanning the spot where the rest of the body should have been. “…where’s the other half?”

It was a question I never wanted answered.

When I realized my stilettos were sinking into the carpet soaked with blood, I cursed under my breath. *My gorgeous $2,000 Jimmy Choos… I’d worn them for the first time today! And now, they were ruined.*