Cole And The Demon

Chapter 5

"For centuries," Zafira began, her voice low and velvety, "I've managed to live among you mortals—feeding discreetly, unnoticed. I've survived by keeping a low profile. But last night, you interrupted me before I could... dispose of Travis properly. And now, I'm in the news.

She sighed with an air of annoyance, her perfectly manicured fingers brushing imaginary dust from her lap. "That's quite an inconvenience for me, you see." Because there are certain... forces that would love nothing more than to put my head on a spike."

Cole tensed. "These forces—are they enemies of yours?"

"In a manner of speaking," Zafira replied, catching the edge of his thoughts. "They're not fond of my kind". Fortunately, I'm very good at staying hidden—until now.

It didn't take a genius to guess what she was leading to.

"I take it you want me to help clean this up," Cole said dryly.

Zafira's lips curved into a smile. "You catch on quickly, Detective. That's one of the many things I find so... charming about you.

"And how exactly do you expect me to help?"

"Let's make a deal," she purred, circling him slowly. "I could flee the city—feed elsewhere—but I like it here. Chicago has its charms. So many sinners... so much corruption... it's practically a buffet. But now I have to be more careful. I can't roam freely anymore.

She leaned against the table, her voice seductive yet calculating. "You, Cole, are an officer of the law." You can provide me with what I need—names, locations, access. Give me the worst of humanity, and I'll handle the rest.

"You want me to become your demonic informant?"

She chuckled. "I prefer to think of it as... a mutually beneficial partnership."

"And if I refuse?"

Zafira pouted theatrically. "Then I'll be forced to leave... and that would make me very sad." She looked him over, head to toe. "Of course, it also means you'll never uncover who really killed your precious Maria."

Cole's jaw clenched.

"No leads. No witnesses. "No evidence," she continued, her voice darkening. "The case is cold, and you know it. You'll go to your grave haunted by the memory of her blood on your sheets, never knowing why it happened. Just imagine that torture. It's... delicious."

Cole stared at her. The memory of Maria—her final terrified expression, the horror of her death—never left him. And as much as he hated Zafira for using it against him, he also knew... she wasn't wrong.

Zafira straightened and sauntered toward the door, her heels tapping lightly on the hardwood floor. "I'm not asking for your answer now," she said. "Take the night to think it over."

She turned, her eyes glinting. "Meet me at Buckingham Fountain tomorrow." Midnight. Come alone."

Just before stepping out, she glanced back over her shoulder. "Oh, and Cole... if you so much as think about telling anyone what I am, I'll kill you. And unlike Travis, I won't make it enjoyable.

She blew him a kiss-literally. A soft swirl of pink mist fluttered through the air, brushing against his lips with the delicate feel of an actual kiss. The scent of cherry blossom and cotton candy filled his senses. His body responded instinctively before the feeling vanished like a dream.

With a sultry wink, Zafira disappeared into the night, leaving Cole with a choice that could cost him his soul—or finally give him the answers he'd long been denied.

---

Fatigue gnawed at Cole as frustration boiled over. He had been awake all night, combing through every document, every photograph, desperately searching for a clue he might have overlooked in Maria's murder.

"There has to be something I missed—damn it!" he muttered, slamming his fist against the table.

He had gone over the case files countless times before, but this time the stakes were different. If he could somehow identify Maria's killer before midnight, he could turn down Zafira's proposal, and she would disappear—at least, he hoped she would keep her word.

He glanced at the clock. 3:46 p.m. The hours were slipping away.

A sharp knock at his apartment door startled him. Cole froze. Zafira wouldn't knock… would she?

Peering through the peephole, he saw a man he didn't recognize—about his age, dressed in a black suit. Dark hair, a neatly trimmed goatee. The reversed collar and rosary beads dangling from his neck betrayed his calling: a priest.

Cole cracked the door open cautiously.

"Yes? What do you want?"

"Good day, sir." I'm looking for Detective Cole Harvey. Is he here?"

Cole narrowed his eyes. "Who's asking?"

The man offered a polite smile. "Forgive me." My name is Father Gabriel Korvenus. I'm with the Congregation of the Holy Cross.

Cole's face hardened. "Sorry, but I'm not looking to find God today," he said coldly, beginning to shut the door.

"Wait—please!" Gabriel pressed urgently. "Detective Harvey, I believe I may have information about the recent nightclub murder."

That gave Cole pause. He opened the door wider and let the man inside.

Gabriel's eyes swept the apartment. Case files and grisly photos cluttered every surface, transforming the place into a shrine of obsession. Fingering his prayer beads, he whispered something under his breath, unsettled by the macabre décor that Cole barely noticed anymore.

His gaze drifted to a framed photo on the wall: Cole and Maria on their wedding day. Gabriel gestured toward it. "Is she the woman from the other photos?"

Cole's jaw tightened. "Not that it's any of your business,"but yes. Now, you said you had information?"

The priest's expression grew serious. "According to reports, you saw a woman at the scene with the victim. Did you notice anything unusual about her? "Perhaps tattoos—large bat wings, across her shoulders?"

Cole stiffened. Those hadn't been tattoos. They were real-her wings and her tail. But how could this man possibly know something so specific? Did he know about Zafira… what she truly was?

"No," Cole lied smoothly. "I didn't see any tattoos. Why do you ask?

Gabriel leaned forward. "The day of the murder, a young woman came into my church for confession. She was… breathtakingly beautiful. She said she was about to commit something terrible, though she didn't explain what. As she left, I noticed enormous bat-wing tattoos covering her back. I thought there might be a connection.

Cole's instincts screamed. Years of detective work had honed his ability to sniff out lies, and this one reeked. No woman in her right mind would walk into a church with an open-back dress just to flaunt tattoos that dramatic. And confessing a crime before committing it? Too convenient. Too staged.

As his suspicion sharpened, Cole noticed something else. When Gabriel shifted, his collar pulled back slightly, revealing a faint scar etched into his neck—shaped like a cross. No accident left a mark like that. It had been carved intentionally, branded into his flesh.

Who exactly was this man?

Cole's thoughts raced. Could Gabriel be one of the "entities" Zafira had warned about? He considered telling him the truth—but Zafira's threat rang in his ears. If you expose me, I'll kill you. And it won't be merciful.

. She could read his thoughts. There was no hiding betrayal.

Best to play it safe. For now.