“That’s amazing,” I whispered.
“It’s a spell of my own creation.” Excitement threaded through Vincent’s voice, and for the first time since he’d arrived, he didn’t sound like a prisoner submitting to an interrogation. “The magic seeks biological evidence, hair, skin, saliva, and so forth. The shapes you see forming manifest from the creature who left the sample.”
“How much information does it give you?”
Vincent shook his head. “Not much. Species and gender. But such is the unreliability of magic. Chemistry and science are much more helpful. After I make notes about the effects, I follow the magic to the individual samples and collect them for more detailed and proper analysis at my lab.”
“So you have a lab report to include in the file in case this turns out to be mundane,” I guessed.
“Precisely.”
“How did you make the magic show up on video?”
A grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “That is impressive, isn’t it?” He wagged a finger at me. “Here is a perfect example of why chemistry and science are the skills to master. As a crime scene analyst, it is important for others to witness as much of my process as possible, for corroboration. Magic unseen is unproven, little more than my word against that of a suspect. For this spell, I tied it to dry ice. The magic takes the place of hot water, activating the powder, and giving a visual of the spell that is visible on a recording.”
“Fascinating.” I hesitated. “Don’t you worry that these videos could end up in the wrong hands? Put on the internet?”
He snorted. “Not at all. All it takes is a word to a magician and there’ll be thousands of trained eyes studying every aspect. It’s only a matter of time before one of them ‘figures it out’ and puts his own video up revealing ‘how the trick was done.’” He smiled. “Magicians. Crafty buggers. They can already replicate half the spells we know, superficially, and if you give them another few centuries, mark my words, they’ll have the other half.”
“I heard a rumor recently that the Vanguard had hired a magician for that very reason,” I said, studying the video. “I’d brushed it off as ridiculous, but if what you say is true…”
“Wouldn’t surprise me at all.”
I opened my mouth to say more, but something kept nagging at me as I watched Vincent’s spell unfold on the screen. I studied the puffs of smoke, focusing on the ones over the body. The most prominent shape kept changing—from wolf to man. What concerned me the most were the shapes I didn’t see. I met Vincent’s eyes. “There was no barghest. No coyote.”
“No.” Vincent took a deep breath. “No, I fear my spell found no such evidence.”
“And you shared this information with Liam.”
“I did. But the spell isn’t foolproof. One sample can obscure another. Sergeant Osbourne insisted that if another beast got to the body before Stephen, that evidence could have been covered or even consumed by Stephen himself. It is possible. The magic requires a biological sample to give an impression of the creature it came from.”
“So if the barghest saliva was on the body, but Stephen ate that part of the body, he would have consumed the sample and the spell wouldn’t pick it up.”
“Yes. And given how much of the body Stephen…consumed, it is possible.”
“But not likely.”
Vincent’s shoulder sagged. “No. Not likely.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw, scratching at the greyish-brown five o’ clock shadow. “And science has failed Stephen as well. I’ve found nothing to suggest any creature, mundane or other, laid jaws on that body before Officer Reid.”
I leaned against the booth. “Stephen knew Oliver Dale was shot, and he didn’t tell anyone. Why?”
“Mother Ren—Shade. I am not a—”
“You don’t have to be a detective to use common sense,” I snapped. “Why are you being difficult? Your own magic is telling you Liam is wrong. Stephen lied.”
“They are good men,” Vincent insisted. “I have worked with them for many years.”
“Good men can still do bad things.”
“Stephen had no reason to kill Oliver Dale.”
“That we know of,” I said. “Liam won’t allow me to question him.”
“He said you could; he just refused to wait for you,” Peasblossom pointed out.
“Still.” I shook my head. “I don’t understand why he’s so standoffish with me.”
“Well, it is in his nature to be reserved,” Vincent pointed out. “He is not only a police officer of significant rank, he’s also the alpha of his pack. That’s a great deal of responsibility.”
“So he’s like this with everyone?” I asked.
“He is more relaxed among his pack mates, I’m certain. But I would venture a theory that he is never truly relaxed, not as you or I would be among friends. As alpha, he must maintain some distance, some…authority, at all times.” He took another sip of tea. “In fact, it is my understanding that the only person an alpha can be completely at ease with is a mate.”
“I’m not asking him to be completely at ease around me,” I said. “I’m only asking he respect me. That he show me the same courtesy he shows his rangers.”
Vincent leaned back in his seat, one hand still cradling his half-empty teacup. “If I might make an observation?”
“Please do.” I ate some of my soup, sighing in pleasure at the flavor of beef and assorted vegetables in a perfectly seasoned tomato broth.
“Your mentor assigned you to this case, I’m guessing without the enthusiastic consent of the pack?”
My shoulders slumped and I swallowed my soup. “Yes.”
“And you have been apologetic for that. You feel like an intruder, and you are aware your participation is…less than desired?”
“Agreed.” I wagged my spoon at Vincent. “But I have insisted on participating. And I don’t think Liam would argue that I’ve been too accommodating to his wishes.”
“But you feel bad for being where you’re not wanted. You are still waiting for them to approve.” Vincent poured himself another cup of tea. “Werewolves, as a general rule, respond to strength. Stop apologizing. Stop feeling like a third wheel. Be yourself. I believe Sergeant Osbourne will respond to that.”
I considered that. To an extent, I felt I did stand up to Liam. But perhaps Vincent was right. Perhaps I needed to stop asking permission, or even forgiveness. Maybe I needed to smack him again. That thought made me sit up as I thought of what else I’d wanted to talk to Vincent about.
“Has Liam talked to you about me?”
Vincent didn’t look up from his tea. “In what way?”
That was a yes. I put my spoon down and pushed my soup away. “What did he say?”
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
I shared a look with Peasblossom, then drummed my fingers on the table. “Let’s try this another way. Since I’ve been around the werewolves, I’ve discovered that I have an…odd reaction to their energy.”
“Oh?” Vincent stared harder at his tea, as if it were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.
“Yes. I’m embarrassed to say I’ve actually caught myself leaning on Liam, not once, but twice.”
“You’re a witch—you are more sensitive to auras in general,” Vincent said lightly. “If you find the auras of shifters pleasant, I see nothing wrong with that. I’m sorry if it’s caused you discomfort.”
I watched his face closely. “It’s causing me more than discomfort. Liam accused me of trying to siphon off his energy.”
The wizard didn’t react. So Liam had told him.
“What did he tell you about it?” I asked.
Vincent sighed and released his tea, letting his hands go limp on the table. “He did come to me today and ask if I had a means to monitor if someone were using magic to affect him.”
“Did he say why?”
“No, but it does not take a wizard to guess it had something to do with you. Liam does not work with many
magic users, and he wouldn’t come to me for such an item if I were the one concerning him. To the best of my knowledge, none of the suspects in this case were magic users, so that left you.”
I clenched my hands into fists. “I’ve done nothing to Liam to justify his suspicions. I would never use magic to influence him like that, and I would certainly never try to siphon off someone’s—”
I froze. Mocking laughter filled my head, past sins taunting me with my own words. I wilted in my seat, staring down at the table as the memories threatened to drag me into the past. Liam couldn’t possibly know of my previous crimes.
“Shade?” Vincent asked gently.
Something sticky made the back of my hand itch. I looked up to find Peasblossom with one hand on top of mine, her pink face pinched with concern. I tried to give her a reassuring smile, but I couldn’t manage it. Instead, I looked at Vincent.
“I haven’t been using magic on Liam,” I said, my voice so low that even I almost missed it.
“I gave Liam an enchanted stone,” Vincent said. “I told him it would glow if you were guilty of the crime he suspected you of.”
I snorted, thinking back to our confrontation earlier. “So he baited me on purpose to make me angry, then touched me to see if I’d try anything. That explains that.” I drew invisible patterns on the tabletop with my finger, still trying to fight back the images from the past, and all the emotional baggage that came with it. “I still don’t understand why I’m affected by his energy, though.”
“Is it Liam, or shifters in general that you find so enticing?” Vincent asked.
I thought about that. Stephen’s energy had been too violent at the time; there’d been nothing comforting about it. And Blake didn’t usually stand very close to me for the short amounts of time I’d been in his presence. Sonar kept even more of a distance than Blake. I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Well,” Vincent said, tapping one finger on the rim of his teacup, “I’m assuming there is nothing in your past that would predispose you to feeling drawn to shifters?”
I barked out a laugh. “No.”
He nodded. “Well, in that case, it’s possible that this is a holdover from a previous life. Perhaps you had a special relationship to a shifter, then—or perhaps you were a shifter. Has Mother Hazel ever encouraged you to try a past life regression?”
“No.” I shook my head vehemently. “In point of fact, she’s forbidden it.”
“Indeed?” Vincent raised his eyebrows. “Interesting.”
I shook my head and sat up in my seat. “Never mind; none of that matters now. I’m not trying to siphon off Liam’s energy, and if your stone works, then he should have realized that by now, or will soon. In any case, we’re here to solve a murder.” I nodded, as much to myself as to Vincent. “I’m going to get a look inside Oliver’s apartment. Maybe I’ll find something there to connect him to Stephen.” I looked at Vincent. “I could use your spells. Will you come with me?”
Vincent opened his mouth, but before he could respond, a feminine voice interrupted.
“Planning to break into someone else’s home, are you? Will you be burning this gentleman’s house down as well?”
That voice. I froze, keeping my hands pressed flat to the table in the universal “don’t shoot me, I’m unarmed” position. “Hello, Arianne.”
The sorceress stood beside my booth, in my peripheral vision, but just enough out of sight I couldn’t see her hands, couldn’t see if she were readying a spell. Every nerve in my body screamed in anticipation, a panicked urge to run as fast as I could shaking my legs. I turned my head, slowly so as to appear as nonthreatening as possible.
Arianne wore a stunning gown that somehow looked as if it could be worn to bed as easily as to a formal occasion. It hugged her slim curves, the sleeves plunging down like the dresses I’d seen so often when I was a girl in a different world. Somehow she made it look modern.
“What are you doing here, witchling?” Arianne demanded, her voice cold. “I wouldn’t have thought you daring enough to seek me out again after our last encounter.”
“I’m not here to see you,” I said. “I—”
“You are far from Dresden,” Arianne said. “You are less than three blocks from my business—my business you nearly burned to the ground.”
I wanted to point out I’d only set a bed on fire, and said fire had been extinguished by her sprinkler system before too much damage had been done. I’d also been fighting for my life when I did it. But Arianne didn’t appear to be in an understanding mood, so I kept those thoughts to myself.
I shifted on the bench seat. “So… How’ve you been?”
“I have been dealing with the fallout that comes from having the FBI stomping through one’s business, hauling out a dead body. As if that were not enough, you put me in the sights of that insufferable sidhe.” Her mouth twisted in disgust. “He’s come around twice now, trying to convince me to help him with that ridiculous tattoo.” She crossed her arms, fingers dancing over her biceps in a motion that could all too easily turn into a spell.
Again, I had to swallow back information that would hurt me more than help. The sidhe she referred to was Flint Valencia—a leannan sidhe who used his seductive abilities a little too freely. He’d taken an unhealthy interest in me during my last case, and the tattoo Arianne spoke of was my attempt to protect myself from him. Nothing cooled one’s hormones like an enchanted spider tattoo that moved like the real thing over the would-be seducer’s face…
“Arianne, I am so sorry for what happened at your hotel. It was irresponsible of me, completely inexcusable. I hope you can forgive me. I would like us to be friends.”
Arianne gaped at me, the open-mouthed expression somewhat at odds with the elegance of her dress. “Friends? Friends? I am not friends with those who threaten my business, who nearly bring death and destruction on those I hold dear. I—”
She froze as if she’d said more than she wanted to. I blinked. Death and destruction to those she held dear? I hadn’t hurt anyone that I knew of.
An unpleasant smile curled her lips. “Tell me, witchling. Have you had any interesting dreams lately?”
I fought not to react, curling my hand around my still-warm tea. I’d already known Arianne was the one who’d sent the dream shard after me, so that was no surprise. And I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing just how badly she’d scared me.
“No more than usual,” I said.
Her smile widened. “So nice to hear it. Well, I must say goodbye now.” She pivoted and walked a few steps before pausing. “Be careful, Mother Renard. Rocky River Reservation is full of shadows and things that go bump in the night. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to Mother Hazel’s precious protégée.”
It wasn’t until the door shut behind Arianne that I realized Peasblossom was no longer sitting next to my hand. I looked around, then tensed. With a groan, I found the sticky pixie tucked under my arm—attached to my shirt.
“She’s not very nice,” Peasblossom mumbled. She walked back to her honey, then squeaked when her wings stuck to my shirt, glued in place by honey residue.
I cleared my throat and drew on my magic to clean away the tacky substance. “No, she’s not.” I turned to face Vincent. “I apologize for—”
The wizard was gone. Vanished like a coward during my tête-à-tête with the dream sorceress.
“Didn’t waste time escaping, did he?” Peasblossom clucked her tongue, her eyes still locked on the remaining honey. “Sissy wizard.”
“It makes me wonder how he ended up in this field.” I signaled our waitress. “Could I get a to-go container, please?”
“We’re leaving already?” Peasblossom held out her arms for the honey, and only my two-fingered grip on her skirt kept her from launching herself face first.
“Anthony turned himself in. I don’t want him to be in the tender care of the werewolves any longer than necessary. Let’s go see Oliver Dale’s apartment.”
> “And if you don’t find anything?”
I sighed. “Then we must talk to Stephen. Whether his alpha likes it or not.”
Chapter 15
I didn’t have the authority to ask the building manager to let me into Oliver Dale’s apartment. Fortunately, my lock-picking skills exceeded most—mostly because people summoned a village witch for help in any situation, including after they’d locked themselves out of their house. Mrs. Patel locked herself out of her house so often that I’d taken her on as a locksmith apprentice, and now she helped me with some of the calls I got.
The door creaked as I swung it open, and that small sound grated on my nerves. I have a right to be here, I reminded myself. It’s all part of the investigation.
“It stinks in here,” Peasblossom complained.
I wrinkled my nose. “Silver polish. Cheap silver polish.”
“And you made Liam stay in here while you chatted with Anthony. No wonder the cranky cop refused to return so you could snoop around.”
I conceded the point. Though in my defense, Liam hadn’t said anything about silver, and he could have waited in the hallway while I looked around. Too late now.
I shook off thoughts of what the werewolf alpha would have to say about me breaking into the victim’s apartment and crept farther inside. Boxes piled up on the far end of the room announced the landlord’s intention to clear it out for a new tenant. Lucky for me, it seemed he hadn’t started yet. The boxes were empty, only a few of them stuffed with bubble wrap and brown paper for packing the more fragile possessions.
As I reached the center of the living room, I had to stop and stare.
“Not a humble man, was he?” Peasblossom muttered.
It was the understatement of the year. Floating shelves covered the entire living room wall, each shelf laden with a picture or trophy or plaque. A couple held framed certificates. Half the trophies were from school, awards for athletics, mostly football. The plaques were from work, those odd glass constructions congratulating Oliver Dale for efficiency and—of all things—teamwork.
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