Shadow Detective, Tome 7: Witch Wars

Chapter One

The call of the police dispatch came in at 3:22 a.m.:"Caucasian female, age 80 or older, around five-foot-eleven and 120 pounds, is causing a disturbance on Lafayette Street and Nielson Way. the individual appears unarmed but might be under the influence of narcotics..."

Officer Ron Parker spun the steering wheel of his cruiser and floored the gas. Police sirens warbled and keened as he shot down the deserted nighttime streets. This late at night, even the club crowd was thinning. His partner, Officer Steve Rushmore, was technically still a rookie and couldn't hide his excitement in the passager seat - The kid was ready for action.

Parker barely recalled the days when he shared a similar thrill for police work. He'd witnessed to much, seen too many lives squandered. Nowadays, he showed up, put in his hours, and did his best not to shoot anyone or get himself shot. His calling had become job, and like most of this fellow officers, he was biding his time to retirement. Twelve years down, eight to go.

You're more than alway there, buddy.

Traffic was practically non-existent, and it took them less than ten minutes to reach the corner of Lafayette and Nielson. Scanning the intersection, Parker spotted the bag lady who had prompted some wary resident to dial 911. The woman was tall and rail thin, a ragged coat draped over a bony frame, features obscured by a black hood. She stood in the road and paced erratically, mumbled and shouted to herself.

Just another crazy old bat off her meds, Parker thought. Wandering around in the middle of the street at this ungodly hour was an open invitation to being run down by some careless driver.

Parker stopped the car and nodded at Rushmore. "I got this."

The rookie looked disappointed, but Parker ignored him as he jumped out of the vehicle and approached the woman. He snapped his holster open but didn't draw his firearm. The frail, bone-thin old lady wasn't physically threatening, her behaviour more a danger to herself than others. She kept moving to and fro as he drew closer, her body shaking with nervous energy. He was almost upon her when se spun toward him, impossibly fast, and Parker recoiled with horror and revulsion.

The woman's cadaverous face was chalk-white, webbed and mottled with roadmap of wrinkles and unsightly purple splotches. Patches of stringy gray hair stuck to her skull in clumps. Her features were sharp, animalistic, the ancient skin tough as rawhide stretched over prominent bones. Parker stared into the milky eyes without pupils and flinched. The nightmarish woman looked like she was a hundred years old.