Dark Gift

by Kim Richardson

  “Rowyn, the syrup?” asked the cat, licking his lips and looking ravenous.

  I leaned over the table and poured another generous portion of maple syrup on Tyrius’s pancakes. The cat didn’t even wait until I stopped pouring before he had his head in the pancakes, resulting in some clumps of sticky syrup in his fur. That was not coming out.

  I sat back with a loud thump. “Why not? Why the hell not?” I asked louder, feeling my blood pressure rise again as I let the bottle hit the table with a clunk. “I’m a fast learner. I can do spells. Okay, so they were all dark—who cares. I still did them. Me. Without any training I was able to magic myself into a faerie. Come on, Gareth. I can do this.”

  Gareth’s eyes narrowed at the tone in my voice. “Are you schooled in elemental magic?”

  “No,” I answered and then beamed at him. “But that’s why you’re going to teach me.”

  “No.”

  Now I was pissed. “You were able to knock out four werewolves with just one hit of your elf dust. Not one—four. Four goddamn, full-fledged weres. They’re coming for me, Gareth. You know it. And I’m not stupid enough to think I can survive another four werewolves without help. Without your elf dust.”

  “I’m sorry, Rowyn,” said the elf as he busied himself with adding more pancake mixture to his hot pan. “But it’s a no.”

  “You want me to die?” I accused belligerently. “You want my grandmother to find my mauled and half-eaten body sprawled on my living room floor?”

  When Gareth turned back around, he looked livid. “Don’t. It’s not going to work.”

  I slumped in my chair and glared at him. “It’s the truth. There’s only so much I can do with my soul blades. Having your kind of magic could save my ass.”

  “I would have to agree with Rowyn on this one,” said Tyrius, his mouth full and his whiskers sticky with syrup. “If she can learn it without her being an elf, what’s the harm in teaching her? She’d make a good student.” The cat’s eyes fell on me and I beamed at him. Tyrius knew that Gareth held a soft spot for him, and he was milking it. Attaboy, Tyrius.

  Gareth sighed in frazzled frustration. “Even if I said yes,” said the elf and a sliver of hope rose in me, “it would take you years before you could conjure up enough elemental energy for the elf dust to work. It’s not just throwing herbs into a pot, lighting candles, and saying an incantation. It takes concentration. Patience, which you obviously don’t have. And years of practice to get it right. You want to learn it to do it now, but it’s not possible. It takes time.”

  “I’m a fast learner,” I said. “I can do this.”

  The elf watched my face for a few seconds but then shook his head. “I’m sorry, Rowyn.”

  “I saved your ass,” I said, my voice nearly a shout. I gripped my fork until I could feel the metal handle cut into my palm.

  Tyrius let out a low whistle. “She’s got you there, elf.”

  “You remember that? Huh? Do you?” I said, my cheeks feeling hot. “I killed an alpha to save your life. Doesn’t that count for anything? Doesn’t it get me some free elf magic lessons?”

  The elf shook his head. “It’ll be a waste of both our time. Haven’t you heard a word I said? It would take too long. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” I seethed, my body tense.

  “Duck,” warned Tyrius, his body low against the table.

  Gareth looked at Tyrius. “What?”

  Dropping my fork, I grabbed my last pancake off my plate and threw it at him. Yeah, that was probably childish, but I was ticked. Really ticked.

  He ducked, and the pancake smacked against the wall and stayed there, adhered by the maple syrup glue.

  Tyrius laughed and Gareth seemed too surprised to say anything. Still pissed as hell, I sat in my chair and didn’t say a word to the elf while I waited for Tyrius to finish his breakfast. The poor cat had gone through a lot last night. He needed his strength, and I wouldn’t keep him from his favorite breakfast food.

  Things were about to get really ugly, and I didn’t mean wanting to stab the elf with my fork.

  12

  Sure enough, by the time I’d driven back to my grandmother’s place to drop off Tyrius and also to check up on her, I got a call from Father Thomas. There’d been another murder.

  Although Tyrius had one of his dramatic, over-the-top tantrums, I’d left him with Kora and Gran. The baal needed more rest. Only when I specified that I wanted to double Gran’s security, in case Lisbeth changed her mind, did he agree to stay.

  I’d jumped in the shower, washing and scrubbing my body four times before I started on my hair. Memories of the fight with Steven and his pack kept crawling in my mind. No matter how hard I scrubbed my skin, the shame of what I’d done never went away. It never would.

  The drive back to New York City was long, which hadn’t helped my thoughts going back to my heated discussion with Gareth. The elf knew how to push my buttons. And even after everything he’d seen, still he refused to help. Refused to teach me his elf magic.

  Damn that elf. No matter how hard I tried to hate him, I couldn’t. Yeah, I was mad as hell at him, furious enough to maybe even punch him in the face, but I just couldn’t bring myself to hate the elf who’d saved my ass—three times now.

  Traffic was awful, and by the time I made it to the crime scene, my mood was sour, and I wanted to kill something. Preferably one of the demons that was carving up half-breeds all over New York City.

  This time the victim was in Queens.

  I parked my car at the curb. With my arm now healed, I tossed the brace on the passenger seat and got out. The air was cool, the morning sun hidden by dark gray clouds, and it smelled like rain. I cut across the street towards the cemetery. Stationed next to the entrance was a cluster of police cars, one ambulance and two firetrucks.

  The entrance nameplate on a stone pillar read ST. MICHAEL’S CEMETERY. A thick, eight-foot iron fence ran the length of the block and surrounded the entire cemetery. Were they trying to keep the humans from going in at night? Or were they trying to keep whatever didn’t stay dead after dark inside?

  I made my way through the cemetery, my boots clanking on the paved path with a sea of headstones on either side. An excited, restless energy welled up in me and I walked faster. Most people hated cemeteries. They got the heebie-jeebies from walking around so many dead souls and spirits, and it spooked them.

  Me, I saw dollar signs. There was always a ghoul, ghost, restless spirit and the occasional dead thing that just didn’t want to stay dead, wandering the grounds in a cemetery at night. But in daylight, the most I would get now was a tick bite.

  Making my way through the silent headstones and memorials, I spotted a group of policemen and women along with the forensics team hovering around some headstones. I moved faster, my eyes fixed on the yellow tape that fenced in some headstones, memorials and a statue. The statue was of an angel—pale, white, and smooth—with its base overgrown in grass. Dark maroon stains marred the white stone, still wet, making it seem as though the angel was bleeding.

  Shit. I was late at the crime scene. They’d already taken the body down, without waiting for me. Heart pounding in my ears, I noticed a gurney off to the side of the angel statue, covered in a white cloth. Bingo. I willed my legs to move faster.

  My bad mood skyrocketed when my eyes found the tall, stupidly-handsome angel-born Jax, accompanied by his sidekick Ethan just outside the yellow tape zone. I recognized the plump figure of Detective Walsh chatting with them, his face nearly purple. If Gareth decided to show up too, this time I would punch him.

  Moving my legs as fast as they would go without looking like I was jogging, I made my way towards the gurney. Ethan edged into my sight, waving. I kept walking. I wasn’t here to make friends, especially not with the angel-born.

  I ducked under the yellow police tape and made for the gurney. Two cops turned at the sound of me approaching, and just when I thought they were about to stop me, they halted, looking
at something behind me.

  “Miss Sinclair,” came Detective Walsh’s voice, and I halted at the ire in his tone, only a foot from the gurney. Damn, his legs moved faster than I thought.

  I bit my lip and turned to face the man. “Detective Walsh,” I said, in way of greeting.

  “How nice of you to finally join us,” he berated, his face pulled into a grimace like he’d just swallowed a bug.

  “I came as soon as I heard,” I told him, trying not to let his riled tone affect me. “I don’t live in the city, as you well know. It took me over an hour and a half to get here.” I caught Jax and Ethan staring at me, and I flicked my gaze back on the detective.

  The detective’s face wrinkled in surprise. “Where’s your work cat?”

  I managed a tight smile. “I gave him the day off.”

  “That’s three bodies so far, Sinclair,” said the detective, panting. “And you’ve given me nothing. Nothing that can help us catch these bastards. You said you were the best. Then prove it. Give me some goddamn information. Give me something to go on!”

  I frowned at his attitude. “I’m trying to help,” I said and pressed my hand on my hip, feeling my own anger flaring. “It would have helped if you hadn’t moved the body. You could have waited a few more minutes. You knew I was on my way.”

  Detective Walsh was shaking his head as he eyed me steadily. “Impossible. We’re right next to a major highway. We don’t need a panic on our hands. We need to solve this.”

  “Right,” I agreed, some of my anger deflating. I looked at the angel statue and the long blood trails, knowing the statue was a clue. They could have strung up the body on any of the thousands of monuments and Greek-looking statues in this massive cemetery. But they’d picked the angel. Why the angel? What were the demons trying to tell us?

  “How was the body tied up?” I asked, flicking my gaze back to the detective.

  “With rope,” exhaled the detective, breathing hard. “Same as the others. All spread out. Nasty business.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out his phone. “Here.” He swiped the screen with a short, stubby finger. “I’ll send you some pictures I took before they took the body down,” he said, surprising me.

  My phone dinged several times in answer and I pulled it out. My brain lurched into gear now that there was something to work with. The images were a gruesome collage of pictures of a naked female body. Just as the detective had described, she’d been strung up with rope, dirty with blood, her limbs spread out in a vulgar display.

  I was betting she was another half-breed, but from the pictures it was impossible to know for sure if she was vampire, werewolf or possible faerie. There was writing on her chest, like the other victims, but impossible to read from the angles of the photos and from the amount of blood smeared over her body. There was so much blood.

  My gaze flicked back to the body on the gurney. “They tortured and killed her here,” I said, knowing just by looking at the loss of blood in the pictures. “I’d like to see the body now, detective,” I demanded as I pocketed my phone.

  “I have been dealing with bizarre, deviant behavior for many years and have long since realized that almost anything is possible,” said the detective, glancing at the body and then back to me. “Just when you think you’ve heard it all, seen it all, along comes this one.”

  “I know,” I muttered. I knew exactly what he was talking about. It sounded like my life.

  Detective Walsh’s eyes twitched. “I’ve got the mayor up my ass. Give me a profile, Sinclair. A pattern. Something to catch these bastards with. This has ritual crime written all over it. You’re supposed to be the expert. Give me your bloody expertise!”

  A giant knot formed in my stomach. How could I without revealing too much?

  “Wish I could say,” I answered, understanding the man’s frustration. “But I need more to go on—”

  “I’ve got mounds of evidence but no leads. No suspects. Nothing to match it against,” continued the detective, his face an angry red. “I’ve got a couple of battered and bruised security guards at The Office of Chief Medical Examiner where the second victim was last night—and they’ve gone and stolen the goddamn body.” The man took a deep breath. “And now, I’ve just been informed that the first victim’s body has mysteriously disappeared as well. What the hell is going on?”

  I wasn’t surprised Danto took Vicky out of that facility. He’d probably done it before I had my fight with the werewolves, who’d obviously woken up and taken their two fallen pack members.

  “What the hell am I supposed to do with that?” exclaimed the detective. “That’s three dead bodies in three days, Sinclair. Why am I even paying you if you can’t come up with a profile?”

  Ouch. The problem was, there wasn’t really a profile to give the detective. Demons killed because first, they liked it and second, because they needed to feed. And every single demon I’d ever come across suffered from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder—repeatedly killing humans for their souls, their lifeforce. In all my years as a Hunter, I’d never met one that liked to show off as much as these.

  I didn’t have much to go on other than they were just picking half-breeds at random. But were they?

  The first was a vampire. The second a werewolf. I was willing to bet that this third victim was either a witch or maybe even a faerie. Still, that didn’t give me much. What was the connection?

  The detective’s face took on a severe cast, and he leaned to block my view of the body on the gurney. “Without a motive, the proof necessary for a reasonable suspicion, or probable cause, I can’t arrest anyone. I got nothin’. Without a real suspect, we can’t go arresting people just because they act secretive and like to wear black.”

  “I’m secretive and like to wear black,” I said smiling, but I quickly regretted it at the scowl on the man’s face. He was turning a shade of purple I’d never seen before.

  “Look,” I said, attempting to undo the damage of my poor and misplaced humor, “like all serial killers, these guys are no different. They can’t help the urge to want to get caught. What’s the point of all those brilliant crimes if no one takes the credit?”

  Detective Walsh pinched his brow as he glared at me. “You sound like you admire them.”

  “I don’t,” I answered, not particularly liking where the conversation was going. “But I’m sure there’s something here that can tell us more about who they are and why they’re doing this—clues to point to the murderers. We just have to find them.” That part was true.

  “And look for what?” The detective seemed like he was about to spit. “I’m a looking for a man? A woman? Both?”

  Female demons were more vicious with their kills, more intimate, and although this was familiar and intimate in a way, I didn’t get the female vibe. This type of put-your-kill-on-display resonated with me that it was male. But I still didn’t understand the motive behind the displays. And the angel...

  “The leader of this group is male,” I said. I wished I’d brought Tyrius with me and realized it was a mistake leaving him behind. “It doesn’t mean there are no females involved, though.”

  The man took a breath and fell silent, mastering the anger and the disappointment in my lack of a better profile. “You told me these murderers think they’re demons,” said the detective with barely controlled irritation. “You were right about killing only at night.” The detective gave me a sour sideways look. “But you were wrong about the signature marking.”

  My stomach quivered. “What do you mean?” My gaze fell on the gurney again.

  The detective shifted on his feet. “The carving on her chest. The symbols are—”

  “Different.”

  I turned to see Jax, his green eyes determined. He was wearing a similar expensive suit like the last time I’d seen him, which probably cost more than my car payments. Ethan, acting like Jax’s shadow, stood next to him dressed in similar attire.

  My mouth went dry. Different? The words were different?<
br />
  “How so?” I asked, feeling my anxiety rise. I didn’t like him knowing something I didn’t, but I hated that he saw how much it bothered me.

  A sly smile curled around Jax’s mouth at what he saw on my face. “Haven’t you seen the body yet?” He slipped his hands in his pockets, looking like an Armani model ready for his photo shoot.

  I stiffened but kept my face blank. “No. Not yet. I just got here as you well know.” God, he was aggravating. My eyes fell on Ethan but he was examining his feet.

  Jax’s smile grew. “The letters are not the same.” Shrugging, he leaned back, looking very attractive, confident, and sexy in his suit. It irritated me. “It’s clearly demonic,” he said, “but the word is shorter. It’s not the same word. It’s something else this time.”

  I scowled at the accusation in his tone, like somehow I had lied about what it had said before. I hadn’t. And that just ticked me off. “Are you suddenly specialized in demonic texts?” The detective was watching us, miffed. No wonder, we were acting like a couple of rookie cops, not occult and ritual crime specialists. But Jax was really starting to piss me off.

  Jax’s smile twitched and then faded. “I would have fired you if you worked for me,” said the angel-born, his green eyes flicking between me and Detective Walsh. “Punctuality is crucial in our line of work. You miss things, people get killed.”

  My face burned. “Yeah, well, I don’t work for you.” I stood where I was, my pulse sprinting, and fought to keep from throttling him. Why was he being such a prick?

  “Right now,” said Detective Walsh, his voice rising. “I don’t care what it says if it doesn’t help me. I want to know how to find these bastards.”

  Jax’s smooth face scrunched up. “I think you should set up a trap.”

  The detective raised his brows looking skeptical. “Oh, you do, do you?”

  “I do,” answered Jax, though he kept his eyes on me. “These killers have more than one pattern. One is that they might return to the scene of the crime for an emotional high. The high of the kill—if you will. Often the eye sees what the mind perceives. These crimes are staged, deliberately seeded with ‘demonic clues’ in order to mislead the police. They’ll come back. I’m sure they will.” His smile grew ugly and darkened. “And when they do, we’ll be waiting for them.”