Something Sinister This Way Comes: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Midlife Wishes Book 2)

by R K Dreaming

  “If your psychic gifts did not tell you that The Reaper wasn’t the murderer, then you might be wrong,” said Charming stubbornly.

  “Do you want it to be The Reaper?” I said in frustration. “From your perspective, isn’t this good news? It means you’ve got more chance of catching this killer now.”

  “How can it not be The Reaper?” demanded Charming. “We know that he was looking for Amelie since she was a little girl. This kill was more personal for him than usual. Maybe he just made a mistake.”

  “No, it’s more than that,” I said. “Even the placement of the mark was all wrong. The Reaper is showy. He likes to make sure that the mark is the first thing that you see, so that you’ll know that this is where he has killed someone. So that you feel the dread as soon as you see it, and know that you’re going to see a dead body. The mark should have been on the wall behind the bed, not near the door on the way out.”

  “Maybe he was rushed. Maybe he didn’t expect to find that other guy in the house, and it messed up his routine.”

  “No, he’s careful. He has a signature style. He’s been doing it for decades, and he wouldn’t mess it up. It’s a force of habit for him by now.”

  Charming frowned. He was sitting crouched before the fire, warming his hands, as if he felt chilled.

  “Do you think he might have done it on purpose? Making his mark look fake to confuse the police?”

  I frowned. “Why would he do that?”

  “Clearly this sentinel Polliver doesn’t know yet that Marilyn was really Amelie. Which means the Conclave of Magic can’t know that she was Amelie either. Maybe The Reaper doesn’t want them to make the connection?”

  I shook my head. “He loves to boast about his kills. That is why he leaves his mark in the first place. He would never ever leave a fake mark on one of his own kills. I think it was a copycat.”

  “I think you’re wrong,” said Charming.

  I glared at him. “Why are you so desperate for it to be The Reaper?”

  He did not reply, and only stared into the fire.

  I understood suddenly. “You think it will mean more if her killer is The Reaper, a vicious serial killer, someone who desperately needs to be caught. You think it means more, as an act of love, to catch The Reaper. You’re worried that if it isn’t The Reaper, it won’t be enough if you catch them. That it won’t break the curse.”

  He shrugged angrily.

  “Do you think I don’t want it to be The Reaper too?” I demanded. “I wish it was a trick that he was playing on us, but that’s just wishful thinking. This doesn’t change anything for me. I promised to help you catch Amelie’s killer, and I will. This killer is just as evil. He had no right to take Amelie’s life. You remember that. You will be bringing her justice.”

  Now it was him who shook his head. “I’ve been thinking… I don’t think you should be helping me. I need to do this on my own. It’s better that way. I will look for Amelie’s killer. You can focus on finding Gaia.”

  “I can’t find Gaia yet,” I said. “Not until we’ve caught The Reaper. Otherwise we would just be putting her in danger.”

  “If she even wants to be found,” he muttered.

  I flushed at this reminder that my own daughter didn’t want me. I felt like he had said it just to hurt my feelings. He knew it too, because he shot me an apologetic look.

  “Do you even want to find her?” he said in a gentler tone. “After all, she’s had nothing but a life of trouble. She doesn’t want to be helped by you or anyone. At best, she was a petty criminal. But at worst, she was on a downward spiral to something much worse… Maybe you’re better off without her.”

  “How can you say that?” I demanded, my cheeks flushing with angry heat. “Is that what you felt about your own child who you won’t talk about? Because you must have had one if Amelie was your last remaining descendant. You knew what it was to be a parent, to feel that love. How can you say that to me?”

  He turned away from me, his eyes going blank as he gazed into the fire. “It was a very long time ago.”

  “But you haven’t forgotten,” I accused. “You haven’t forgotten what it feels like to love a child.”

  He sighed, and rubbed his tired eyes. “We are not getting anywhere with this conversation. We need to make a fresh start tomorrow. We should split up. You can do whatever you want. But I need to investigate this case my own way.”

  Chapter 8

  SIGOURNEY

  I awoke the next morning determined to persuade Charming that we needed to stick together, but he was already gone.

  There was no sign of him in the house. When I knocked on the door of the bedroom he had gone into last night, there was no answer.

  I supposed there was a chance he might have gone inside his lamp, inside the tattoo on my shoulder, but I doubted it. Not after the disagreement we’d had last night.

  It had left my heart feeling heavy, and I’d been unable to sleep. I had upset him by forcing him to talk about his child, a thing which was clearly hard for him. I felt guilty about it. I wished he would tell me what had really happened back then. Who had made the curse that had forced him into the lamp? And had it forced him away from a family that he loved? A woman and child?

  It felt awful realising that might have been the case. How must it feel to live for a thousand years and know that everyone you had ever loved died so long ago? The thought was unbearable. How would it feel if someone trapped me in a lamp right now, and my one hope of ever seeing Gaia again was completely gone?

  I wished that Charming had been here so I could have told him about the dream that I’d had. My excitement about it had died completely now that I didn’t have anyone to share it with.

  It had been a dream of Amelie on the night that she had died, but not the horrible part. It had been earlier in the night, and she had been enjoying a glass of wine with her handsome male friend, the one who had also been murdered. They had been laughing, talking, snuggling together on the couch. It had been so lovely, the image of domestic bliss.

  It made me feel even worse that they were now both dead.

  Feeling melancholy, I went down to the kitchen to make myself some breakfast. Ever since my first wish had granted me the ability to be able to eat real food, the stuff had become an addiction. One that I loved to indulge. Because after a lifetime of being a sickly sanguith, it was marvellous to be free of it.

  I made myself what my brother Oberon had told me was a Full English Breakfast. Hot buttered toast, and plenty of creamy scrambled eggs, with delicious meaty sausages and mushrooms and beans.

  Eating it was both wonderful and lonely. It was a lovely Sunday morning, and the sun was streaming in through the window. Oh how wonderful it would have been to be anyone else other than myself, to be carefree and not wondering about a murder. Brimstone Bay beach was just a stone’s throw away. How blissful it would have been to stroll down there after breakfast with a loved one, hand-in-hand. To sit on the sand dunes, and watch the waves lapping the shore. Watch children play, and dogs frolic, and feel full of the sensation of being alive in this wonderful world.

  Instead I was sitting here eating alone, as I had done nearly all of my life. I couldn’t help but wish that Charming was here to keep me company. I knew that I could summon him back just by calling his name, but no way was I going to do that.

  When I had finished eating, I washed up, and then paced the house, not knowing what to do with myself.

  The trouble was that I didn’t know whether my getting involved was going to help Charming or not. And yet I was plagued by the thought that if I didn’t help, especially now that I had some sort of psychic powers back, then Amelie’s killer might get away with it.

  And maybe he was right. Maybe The Reaper really was the killer, and was playing some sort of clever game with us. With my psychic powers not being what they had been, there was no way for me to be sure.

  I missed him, I realised. I hated not knowing where he was. Even more, I
hated the idea that he might spend all that time chasing clues and interviewing suspects, and Amelie’s killer might still get away with it.

  And then what would happen? I would have to make my last wish sooner or later, and put Charming back into his lamp forever. And would whoever found him next care about his troubles?

  Was he going to spend another eternity between wish-makers waiting for the night of the full moon, the one night he could escape the lamp in man-form, and fruitlessly search for Amelie’s killer?

  How many full moons would he have until Amelie’s killer died a natural death, leaving him unable to ever claim justice for her? Leaving him unable to ever free himself from that lamp?

  The thought was horrific. It spurred me into action. I was going to help the damn genie whether he liked it or not. He could catch the killer in the end, and all I would do was help him along the way.

  So I called Polliver, who answered almost immediately and snapped, “You’re up early, sanguith. Aren’t you meant to be sleeping?”

  “Never you mind that. I need—”

  “I haven’t got the paperwork yet. Have you decided to stop being ridiculous, and tell me what you saw yet?”

  “Not until you’ve got the paperwork,” I responded coolly. “And since you’re being so lazy about it, I’m going to need something else too. I need you to call whoever is in charge of the Marilyn Hepburn case at the Conclave of Magic, and persuade them to let me help them.”

  Polliver snorted. “You are out of your mind. I told you to stay out of that case, and if you don’t, you just remember that you haven’t got your paperwork yet, missy. And there is a nice little sunlit jail cell waiting for you.” He slammed the phone down.

  I was incensed, and it took me a moment to calm down. I had always hated Polliver, and I was damned if I was going to let a bully like him interfere in my life.

  In a fury, I charged out of the house. Then I charged back in.

  What a fool! I couldn’t go around Brimstone Bay looking like myself. As far as everyone knew, I was a sanguith. How was I going to explain suddenly being able to walk about in daylight unscathed? I couldn’t say a genie did it, because I had promised to keep him a secret.

  So I returned to my room to muster up some kind of disguise. I pulled my curly dark hair back in a tight bun, bundled my head in a chunky knitted scarf and slapped on some overlarge sunglasses. Bit weird in wintertime maybe, but it couldn’t be helped. Neither could my distinctive height. I threw on an ankle-length black coat over it all and decided it would have to do.

  Without Charming to etherhop me, I had to walk the good old-fashioned way across town to the morgue.

  I had the mad hope that maybe Amelie Assisi’s spirit might be lingering there with her body. And failing that, maybe her body itself would be able to give me some clue.

  I walked into the building as if I had every right to be there, flashed my old Sentinel ID at the receptionist, purposefully covering my name with a well-placed finger, and said in a clipped voice, “I need to speak to the coroner about the Marilyn Hepburn case.”

  The receptionist, a young man who looked like he hadn’t been long in the job, leafed nervously through his notepad. “Sorry, I didn’t… No one told me you were coming. Is she expecting you?”

  I fixed him with a stern look. “You are aware, I assume, that the Conclave of Magic and the Sentinels have formed a joint task force on this case?”

  He flushed. “Er, no. Er, yes. Sorry. Hold on. Let me check.” He picked up his phone.

  Darn it! Whoever he was calling was going to tell him that I had no business being here.

  I leaned in closer to him and menaced him with, “Did my colleague, Chief Polliver, not tell you to expect me?”

  His expression cleared. “Oh, yes. He was here yesterday. I didn’t realise… Okay. Let me just check if the coroner is ready to see you. You can sit in the waiting room over there.” He pointed it out to me.

  Feeling relieved, I went to wait while the young receptionist disappeared through some steel double doors that I assumed led into the autopsy room.

  The bodies of both murder victims had to be in there, and given that they had died late Wednesday to early Thursday, already three days ago, maybe the autopsy had already been completed by now. The coroner should have plenty of interesting things to tell me, if she didn’t catch onto me being a big old fraud, that was.

  Several minutes passed, and the young receptionist had not returned. The longer I waited, the more nervous I got that my deception would be caught out.

  I could just walk in, I thought, but that would risk angering the coroner, and I very much wanted to hear what she had to say.

  I busied myself by going over in my mind all of the suspects I was aware of so far, assuming it really was not The Reaper who had killed Amelie.

  Garrett Clooney had said that he and her husband Noah had been away in Ireland. That seemed to rule them out. And yet, why had the famously beautiful Marilyn been drinking wine with a handsome male friend all alone at night? In my dream it had seemed pretty obvious that the two had been very close, almost definitely more than just friends.

  And Amelie’s young husband had left her all alone so soon after their secret wedding. Had she been regretting marrying him? She must’ve felt lonely being left behind like that, and she was not the sort of woman who was used to men leaving her behind.

  I suspected she was a woman who hated being lonely, especially because she was being hunted. Had she been having an affair with the man who had been killed with her that night? And didn’t that give her husband the perfect motive for murder?

  Could Garrett and Noah have been lying about where they’d been? And if so, were they in on it together? Or was Garrett just lying to protect his young cousin?

  I realised suddenly that my agitated pacing was disturbing the two other people sitting quietly in the waiting room. One was a fragile looking redheaded woman who kept glancing at me, and quickly away. She looked distressed, as if my restlessness was upsetting her, but she was too polite to say anything.

  When she saw me looking at her, she offered me a small wavering smile and glanced down again at her lap. It struck me that she must be here to see a deceased loved one. Feeling guilty for my lack of consideration, I abruptly stopped pacing and went to sit in a chair, and tried not to fidget.

  The other occupant of the room was a dazed looking man who was staring off into space. He was sitting hunched in his chair, wringing his fingers. He looked familiar.

  He was a bit younger than me. His dark hair was in disarray from him dragging his fingers through it too often, his handsome face lined with worry, but he was smartly dressed as if he cared about appearances.

  My sudden realisation of who he was made me sit up abruptly in my chair, causing its legs to clatter loudly. The woman shot me a startled look. She was as jumpy as a fawn.

  I murmured an apology to her, but my attention was already back on the man. He was the same man from my dream last night. The one drinking wine with Amelie. The one who I had thought had been murdered, except here he was, very much alive.

  If he wasn’t the dead guy, who was?

  Feeling perturbed by my dream suddenly not making sense, I went to sit on a chair near the man, and cleared my throat. The sound made him look enquiringly at me. I smiled, making it obvious that I wanted to talk to him, and he seemed a little confused.

  He pointed at his chest. “Did you… Did you want me?”

  The quavering uncertainty in his voice was heart-breaking. Gone was the happy, carefree man who had enjoyed a drink and much laughter with Marilyn in my dream. Her death had crushed him.

  I wondered if he had once been an admirer, a fan, his dreams coming true when she’d taken him into her life, and maybe into her bed. Amelie Assisi may have been a runaway, but Marilyn Hepburn had been a superstar.

  “Sorry,” I said quietly to the man, aware that the redheaded woman could hear every word in this small waiting room. “I didn’t
want to disturb you. Have we met? It’s just that you looked familiar...?”

  “I’m…” He paused, grief stricken and unable to focus. He seemed uncomfortable with his own grief, and rubbed his face tiredly. “I’m… Rodan.”

  I hesitated, not wanting to say anything that might make him clam up, and yet my instincts told me that maybe he wanted to talk about her, so I asked, “Are you a friend of Marilyn Hepburn?”

  A wiser man might have gotten angry and demanded to know if I was a journalist. But Rodan leaned forward in his chair, looking at me intensely. “Are you with the investigators? Can you help me?”

  I nodded. “I do want to help you. You were there, weren’t you, that night? Do you know what happened to her?”

  “You have to tell her that I have the key,” he said intensely.

  I frowned. “Tell who?”

  “I tried talking to them, but they won’t listen to me,” he said. “I tried to tell them I need to speak to her, but they won’t help.”

  I frowned a little. Did he not know that Marilyn was dead? In his grief, maybe he was in denial, hoping that she was still alive.

  “Please,” he said. “I can’t hold on. I can’t wait long. I got the key for her, just like I promised. She mustn’t stay any longer. She has to leave. Can you help her?”

  The desperation in his voice spoke of love, which was no surprise given what I had seen in my dream.

  I nodded my head. I couldn’t help Marilyn the way that he wanted, but I intended to catch the man who had murdered her.

  I knew it would not be a good idea to break it to him that she was dead. It might make him fall apart even more, and he was a witness, and I needed to know what he knew.

  I leaned in close to him, and said, “What did you see that night? What did you tell them that you saw?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing.”

  “Do you know anyone who had a reason for wanting to hurt her?” I asked.

  “It’s my fault,” he said, his voice cracking. He looked down at his hands distractedly. They were trembling violently. He shook his head, as if in denial. “I should never have brought her here. Who is going to look after her now?” He stood up abruptly, looking towards the doorway as if he had heard someone coming.