Read J.L. Doty - Dead Among Us 01 - When Dead Ain’t Dead Enough for Free Online

constant feeding. It could now pass even among mortal wizards without detection, though It didn’t push Its luck in that regard.
    But now a Lord-of-the-Unliving had appeared close at hand in Its own feeding grounds, and that frightened It more than any mere sorcerer, though It couldn’t resist a sense of excitement at the possibility of controlling such a Lord. Ordinarily It would hide, find a new city, a new continent, a new identity, and let the Lord live his life in ignorance of Its presence. But this Lord was ignorant of his own powers, and that was the most delicious of opportunities. He was vulnerable, helpless, defenseless, and might be overcome with ease. If so, he’d be the most luscious prey It had consumed throughout Its entire existence on this Mortal Plane.
    Still, It wouldn’t seek him out personally, not yet. Better to use Its tame witch to help two minions cross over. Let a couple of ravenous emergents test this Lord. It was unlikely they were strong enough to actually consume him, though they need not know that. But they could test him, expose all his weaknesses so that Baalthelmass could triumph in the end.
    Wearing the shape of a handsome, wealthy American aristocrat, It sat in the study of Its mansion, and with no more than a thought summoned Its most important thrall. She responded instantly, but the size of Its mansion was such that it took her several seconds to make her way to Its study. When the door opened a beautiful young woman stepped into the room. She had exotic eastern features, olive skin, luscious red lips, and when she lowered herself to her knees and bowed her head, a cascade of long, black tresses hid her face behind a curtain of untamed curls. She waited for Baalthelmass to speak.
    “Belinda, my dear,” It said, gesturing casually with a hand. “Come. Join me.”
    She rose, crossed the room and sat down on the floor at Its feet, placed her hands on Its knee and rested her chin there. She looked into Its eyes with unbridled desire.
    “I have a task for you,” It said. “You must summon a couple of emergents to a certain young man’s apartment.”
    “Yes, my lord,” she said happily.
    “It should be an easy task,” It said. “He’s placed no Wards, is ignorant and completely unprotected.”
    Yes, It would have this Lord. It would feed on him, though not consume him completely. Better to bend him to Its will, enslave him, for with a Lord-of-the-Unliving under Its dominion, nothing and no one could stop It. Ever!
    Walter McGowan parked his car in the darkness between two streetlights more than a block away from Conklin’s apartment. As so often happened in San Francisco, a layer of cold mist had come in off the ocean, blanketing the city in a damp, hazy vapor, sucking all the warmth out of a September night.
    He scanned the street carefully looking for the backup he’d called, glanced at his watch and mumbled, “Where is she?” He waited in his car for another ten minutes, but when he sensed the young man going into the early stages of his summons, he knew he had no choice but to go forward, alone if necessary.
    He climbed out of the car, locked it and walked casually up the sidewalk. The mist that blanketed the city softened the shadows of the night, and while it wasn’t a heavy fog, the glow of the streetlights gave the impression that the world ended only a short distance up the street. He was only a few doors away from Conklin’s building when a voice out of the darkness stopped him in his tracks. “Valter,” it said in a thick Russian accent.
    He cringed, turned toward the voice as Vasily Karpov, flanked by two of his thugs, emerged from the shadow of a nearby alley. Karpov was McGowan’s age, wore a coat and tie, a dark wool overcoat, and a cheap hat that looked like it belonged in some old private-eye movie. To either side of him stood Alexei and Vladimir, younger fellows dressed in cheap, black, heavy, wool business suits that looked like they’d started out