Dead Man Talking

I looked at the dead man across the desk from me and couldn't help but sigh in frustration.

Now, when I said dead man, I didn't mean in a figurative manner, like I wanted to kill him, but I wasn't going to. I meant it in the very literal sense of 'I cut his thread of life'. He was dead and his soul was no longer attached to the decaying mess that he was.

However, if that was the case, then there should be no explanation as to why he was now sitting comfortably back in his chair like he was on a throne and all of us were his subjects.

"You seem to have an advantage over me," I said, rolling my head around my neck, trying to stretch the muscles that just seem to be getting tighter and tighter. I started to wonder if I could get someone to cut my head off and then I reattached it, if it would be looser.

I looked over at Sasha for a brief second before turning my attention to the dead person in front of me.

"I always have an advantage over a human," the body smirked. But it was starting to become clear that whatever was occupying the body was a lot smaller than the skin itself. The longer I stared at it, it more it looked like a piece of plastic melting on a hot day. And seeing as we were in New York during the winter, that was just not possible.

The demon, and it had to be a demon, must have jumped into the body just as I killed it. It was the only way I didn't see the purple tread tangled within the rot. Not to mention, if there was a demon quietly following the general, it would also explain that level of rot.

The demon turned his head around 180 degrees until he could see the three soldiers sitting behind him without having to move his body. "You were supposed to kill her," he sneered, looking at Jackson. "I told Richards to relay the order, so why is she still alive?"

"You know what I am, and yet you still have to ask that question?" I asked with a smirk of my own. "It seems that you are not as all-knowing as you seem to think you are. And you got something on your face," I continued, circling my index finger around my face to show him where.

He took the back of his hand and used it to wipe his mouth. Unfortunately for everyone in the room, his lips and flesh came off on the back of his hand, revealing bits of bone under the skin.

"Fucking body. Too rotten to take," he grumbled under his breath. "But you are not. Only a little smudge. Yes, you will do perfectly."

Before the demon could lunge forward and take over Jackson's body, I quickly found the purple string of his fate. I snipped it as fast as I could, not realizing that I had brought my big silver shears into the physical world as I did it.

Looking at them in my hand, I opened the top drawer of my desk and gently laid it inside.

This time, General Richards' body fell hard onto the floor between his chair and the couch where the three soldiers were sitting. Like a water balloon that made an impact, the blood, flesh, and rot of the General splattered everywhere, leaving only the empty skin in one piece. Relatively speaking.

"And here was me thinking that Van Helsing's office was bloody. I think you might have him beat, Kitten," said Sasha, as he went on his toes and looked over my desk at the puddle of goo on my floor.

"If you are so used to it, you can be the one to clean up the mess," I said, once again closing my eyes and hoping that I could make it out of the room before I managed to throw up the little I ate today. "Back to you. Do you want to be part of my House?" I asked, turning to Dementyev. "I can offer you House Gypsy if you would prefer it, but it won't keep your House off of your back. Only House Tesalor is strong enough to stand up and crush House Skinwalker."

Dementyev stiffed under my gaze. "You know my House?" he asked stunned. "And you are still willing to take me in?"

"Yeah, maybe you should rethink that," suggested Sasha, as he looked at me with a worried look. "Putting yourself in the path of the Skinwalkers by offering sanctuary to one of theirs is a good way to guarantee a war."

I raised my eye at Greyson. "What are your thoughts on the matter?"

Truth be told, I really didn't care about anyone's opinion. Simply by being exiled for as long as he was, Dementyev's thread was as pink as any human that I have ever seen. He must have been outside for hundreds of years for that to happen. Or his Head hated him so much that he completely tore him apart before casting him out.

"Who is the Head of your House? Is it still Odin?" I asked, completely forgetting the actual name of the head. We just all called him Odin because he was obsessed with the old Gods and bringing them back to their former glory.

"He is," said Dementyev.

"He always was an asshole," I said with a shrug. I turned my attention back to Greyson. "Have you come to a conclusion yet?"

"He is one of my best men. I have no idea how he does what he does, but I need him," said Greyson, looking at me seriously.

"Then I guess the choice is yours," I said, smiling at the soldier.

"Will I still be a Skinwalker?" he asked, somewhat concerned. "I mean, I am not as good as I used to be, but I can still shift enough to be able to help with missions, and I don't want that to change."