Detective Death by Darius Ebrahimi EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Name: Detective Death
- Author: Darius Ebrahimi
- Language: English
- Genre: Supernatural Mysteries
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
I was enjoying a peaceful sleep when I was summoned to kill someone.
A brick fireplace extinguished, the amber glow remaining without flame.
Light snuck across oak floors. As if suffering the first freeze of winter, the
room’s only photo-frame of a summer meadow greyed. The five-pronged
ceiling fan stopped. But the tendril of light twisted and a whirlwind
splintered the circular coffee table, shards skittering across the confines of
the small living room. It wouldn’t be called a living room for long.
Everything drained dry of color, except where light twirled at the center of
the silent room, solidifying like red-hot steel dunked into cold water,
transforming into bones and flesh and sinew and ichor.
Into me.
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My face once lined temples. My hand rewrote history books. My bright
grey eyes twinkled like a star between storm clouds, leading desperate, wet
wanderers to safe harbor.
Mortals called me a god. After all, that was what daeva once meant.
But, alas, people called me other things now.
The youthful man in a comfy-looking leather lounger who’d watched my
entrance only called me by a single startled scream. Rather rude. This was a
subdued entrance—lightbulbs had burst, an ivory mug had shattered and
spilt its contents over laminated wood floors, and the echo of thunder now
rippled the coffee that pooled across sealed-over cracks.
Even in sweatpants and a loosely-fitted plaid pajama top, the mortal’s
bones trembled more than the liquid. I paid him no mind, dusting soot I’d
accidently gathered off my pressed white shirt and taking another first
breath, filled with the smell of coffee and smoke. I’d arrived old and silverbearded, a comforting presence. I didn’t come to startle the man.
Regardless, accidents happen.
A crisp apple rolled from the man’s hand. Orange artificial light peeked
through slits in the shades, showing the red orb tumble as if in still-frames
—leaning over the edge of a rounded armrest, plummeting, and then rolling
over the sooty floor.
The man’s wrinkles deepened in similar stages, and he managed a few
shaky words. “What are you?”
“Someone who’d loved it if you hadn’t dropped that apple. But if you
must be curious…” I picked up the once fresh fruit, which clung to ash like
humans clung to expectation. I obliged that expectation, filling the room
with a fallen-timber boom of a voice. “Mortals call me demon, daeva, and
death.”
Darkness crackled. Despite my shadows, I was a creature of light; I
devoured it like a black hole.
“I am deceptively devious,” I said. “But does that mean I am more or less
devious than I appear? I tilled the fields for the first settlers of the Indus
Valley, felled the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, and rode with Genghis
Khan. People worshiped me, until I became the vanquished instead of the
vanquisher. I, more than most gods, understand mortality because I am
mortality—I am Zarik.”
I expected stunned silence, and I got it.
“Any final words?” I asked, drawing closer.
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