“Shit, that looks bad,” I said, earning my Captain Obvious points for the day.
“Wendy,” said Liam, more to himself than to anyone. “Shit, I think that could be Wendy’s floor. Fuuuuck.”
Liam’s handsome brow furrowed, and I guessed Wendy was the person he’d just been to interview. Bad luck for her. And cop or no cop, if he was right, Liam Wells had just become a major suspect.
2
Wish You Were Here
Harrison was screaming at me on the telephone. “Are you all right? Jesus, you could have been toast. Oh, my God, shit, I should have been there. Oh, you poor, poor thing. I feel so awful.”
I’d never known my partner to be so distraught. “It’s okay, really,” I said, trying my damndest to calm him down. “The police say it was a gas explosion, just another one of those things. I never even got in the elevator—believe me, I was safe the whole time, I promise you.”
Maybe I should have told him I’d bumped into Liam, but Harrison was almost beside himself as it was, and mentioning Liam wouldn’t help in the least. The two men had detested each other ever since the werewolf attack.
“Look, I gotta go,” I said, suddenly tired of the melodrama. “The police grilled me when I was there, and I’ve been wearing stupid heels for hours, and my feet are killing me. If you don’t mind, I just wanna soak in my tub for a bit.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” he cried. “And don’t worry about the dress. You can take that back in the morning.”
Like fuck I will, I thought as I hung up the phone. It wasn’t my fault we weren’t going to get paid for the stupid job.
The truth was, I’d kicked off those damned heels almost the second I’d crawled back into my own apartment, but I was still wearing the dress, so I shimmied out of it now. One of the things I liked most about being a witch was I’d spelled some powerful bath bombs. Their magic could ease my aches in a fraction of a moment. Within seconds of hanging up on Harrison, I was butt naked and sliding blissfully into the hot water, enjoying the fizz of the rainbow-colored bubbles I had spelled to ease my pain.
Just as I exhaled happily, the doorbell rang. Shit. “Who is it?” I called out, knowing full well no one could hear me, but not wanting to leave this tiny slice of heaven. “Go away.”
I wondered who the hell it could be. No one ever came to my apartment door, not unless I invited them, and I was an unsociable so-and-so at the best of times. And Mikey stomped on all strangers—that man was better than a guard dog, usually.
I liked my space. And woe betide any idiot that tried to invade it. But then I heard a door slam and I knew someone was inside. “Shit!” I whispered again, really meaning it this time. My gaze fell on the .22 sitting on the lid of the toilet. Without a second’s hesitation, I pushed myself out of the water and made a grab for it, slushing gallons of bespelled rainbow bubbles all over my bathroom floor. Fuck. Someone’s gonna pay for that, I thought.
Naked and dripping water like nobody’s business, I put my back to the wall beside the door. Not that this drywall would stop a bullet. I just prayed the intruder wouldn’t send a volley my way.
“I’m armed and I’m not afraid to shoot,” I shouted through the door, hoping to intimidate whoever might be lurking on the other side, though my heart was racing a hundred miles an hour.
“I bet you look as pretty as a picture, all naked and covered in purple bath bomb, but don’t shoot me with your gun, okay? The boys downtown would never let me live it down.”
Liam! My eyes rolled up to the ceiling and I lowered the weapon. “Liam, you dick!” I yelled through the door. “How the hell did you get in?”
“Mikey told me to come up.”
Of course he did. For some reason known only to the male of the species, my landlord loved Liam. Whenever Liam had come by in the past, I’d been tormented by the little kissy smacks Mikey would mouth when Liam had his back to him.
“Yes, but how did you get into my apartment? I have a double bolt on that thing.”
“It only works if you lock it, D,” he said.
Fine. Just freakin’ perfect. “Gimme a second.”
I grabbed a toweling robe and wrapped it around me, conscious of the puddles of color on the floor. My hair was still up, and I wiped the steamy mirror of the medicine cabinet with my sleeve. A few wispy strands had floated down to frame my face, but I still looked good. Though why I cared was beyond me. It was only Liam.
I found him in my kitchen, opening the fridge door and helping himself to a hard cider. We’d both gotten into that stuff at the academy.
“Help yourself,” I said redundantly.
Liam didn’t respond but parked himself at my breakfast bar where he manually twisted off the bottle cap between his finger and thumb. Tough guy.
“How did you know about the bath bombs?” I asked.
“You were partial to them at the academy. I’d know that smell anywhere. It’s very—you.”
I shrugged, not knowing if that were a good or a bad thing. “Why are you here, Liam? It’s been a real shit dinger of a day and I need some shut eye. What do you want?”
Liam took a swig of the cider then paused to examine the label. “I see you still like Bitches Brew,” he said, looking wistfully at the bottle. “Where do you get it? I haven’t seen it in years.”
“I know a guy,” I replied testily. “Now, are you going to tell me why you’re here, or am I gonna have to beat it out of you?”
“Promises, promises.” But then the smile on Liam’s lips faded, and he put the bottle down on the bar.
“There were two fatalities tonight.”
“Wendy?”
“Yes. Wendy Cane. I told her she had nothing to worry about.” A shadow crossed his handsome face, and I knew he was thinking of the other incident. I softened a little. He must have felt jinxed.
“What about the other victim?”
“Some lady in the adjacent apartment. I don’t know anything about her.”
“Was it a gas explosion, like you said?”
Liam shook his head. He was being irrational, but I guessed it was understandable. Liam had been something of a liberal back at college. A romantic. He’d joined the force, wanting to change the world—to make it a better place. A little green under the gills? Maybe. A few weeks after we’d graduated, he’d given Bo Bryant, the trollish scourge of the magical underworld, the benefit of the doubt in an assault trial. It was a stupid point of law, but Liam had thought it was the right thing to do. “Due process,” he’d said.
As a direct result of his liberalism, Bo had walked free—right into a shopping mall where he gunned down the goblins who’d bagged him, taking a ten-year-old human girl out in the fray. I knew her death would haunt Liam forever.
I opened the fridge door, pulled out a bottle of my own and sat down beside him.
“Really, it’s not the same,” I said as gently as I could.
“Perhaps,” Liam said.
In a flash, he’d gone from confident jock to downright depressed. He’d become mercurial like that. I knew this was the reason he’d turned down all those promotions. His belief in himself had been flushed straight down the latrine with all the guilt that followed. It wasn’t his fault—I knew it—everyone knew it—only Liam would never be convinced he wasn’t to blame.
“So, tell me about the case,” I said, knowing this was the way to bring him back. “What exactly were you investigating?”
It was like he shrugged off his dark mood in a heartbeat and the professional policeman returned. “Wendy was a material witness to a homicide.”
“Jellybean or Ordinary?”
“Ordinary. You know this part of town,” he said, looking me straight in the eye. “And the Crane building is a straight up, top of the food chain kind of building. You said it yourself, we don’t get many calls in that neck of the woods. My first thought was maybe a love triangle, husband got caught with his sausage in someone else’s casserole dish, that kind of thing, you know.” Liam pa
used to take a chug of his cider.
“But you changed your mind?” I asked.
“Maybe. Wendy told me the victim had come into her apartment maybe ten, twenty minutes before someone sent him packing to the beyond.”
My curiosity was piqued. “Oh? Why did he do that? Did she say?”
Liam’s eyebrows rose. “Well, that’s the thing. He gave her this.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a clear plastic bag containing a postcard. I stared at the picture. It read: “Greetings from Chesapeake Bay.” No mystery there, other than the exposure was off and there was an orangey glow to the small cove. I wondered in what part of the bay it had been taken. I turned it over. The mail service had stamped the letter June 4. It was addressed to an apartment in the Crane Building, but there was no return address, or any clue to its origin other than the post office stamp. The message just said, “Wish you were here.” Original.
“Weird handwriting,” I said.
Liam nodded. “Right? It’s all angular—like some kind of dwarves’ rune.”
“Right,” I said, “but at least you can read it. It’s not goblin script, I know that.”
“But it does look magical,” Liam pressed.
“Maybe,” I said. “It doesn’t look human, that’s for sure.” I flexed it gently. “It’s a lot thinner and lighter than your average human postcard, but it’s surprisingly robust. I just can’t pin it.”
The stamp was old, but very unique, probably beach issued, decorated by a cold dragon lurking at the mouth of a cave.
“It was sent from a post office in Rocky Point, but I don’t know anything more about it. It could be something, it could be nothing, I just don’t know.”
“Why are you telling me?” I asked. “Shouldn’t you be having your handwriting people analyze it?”
Liam ran a hand through his very thick, wavy hair, and I wondered how many women had done the same to it.
“I will, I just wanted….” He didn’t finish his sentence but somehow, I knew—he wanted me to help him. He had always come to me when he was in trouble. Maybe I calmed him down, I dunno, but it had always been like this with us.
Us. I frowned and stared a little harder at the pic. “Maybe there’s blood on it.”
“You know, I did go to the same police academy as you,” he said, looking a little irritated. Good. Irritated was a shitload better than down in the dumps.
“Well, I dunno.” I threw my hands up in the air. “You’re the police detective.”
So much for conventional methods. I closed my eyes and clasped my palms together with the postcard between them. The natural world around me vanished and I lingered in the slipstream, the place where magic and reality collided. I didn’t go there much—it was a dismal, windy place full of whispered menace, and it gave me the shivers. But it had its uses—like now.
The postcard in my hand began smoldering, the edges dripping amber and black as they bubbled and twisted. My nose filled with the stench of sulfur and brimstone and I wanted to throw it away—but I couldn’t. Anything dropped in a witch’s slipstream was lost forever: brooms, cauldrons, demons, fairies, anything at all. And the postcard was evidence in a murder case—I needed to keep it.
My focus shifted and I returned to reality.
“Did you see something?” asked Liam.
I took one more look at the card before handing it back to him. It appeared just as it had before—no smoldering edges, but it now felt unclean.
“There’s definitely something,” I said. “You were right to suspect magic, but not the good stuff. There’s something ugly about that thing. Do what you need to do with it, but after that, I’d say destroy it.” I shuddered. “As soon as you can.”
Liam examined the front and back as if trying to see what I could see. I knew he saw nothing, he wasn’t magical, but he took me at my word and nodded.
“Thanks,” he said.
Protectively I covered my heart. I’d be a lot happier when that thing was out of my apartment.
Liam’s gaze followed my hand. Self-consciously, I pulled my robe close to hide my scar.
“Sorry,” he said. “Here I am, babbling on and I haven’t once asked how you’re doing.”
“I’m doing good,” I replied.
“That fucking Harrison.”
“Stop that now.” I set my bottle down and moved to the other side of the bar. “Harrison’s a good man, and you know it.”
Liam scoffed, as he idly flipped through a stack of envelopes I had propped against the tiled wall.
“Hey!” I cried. What the fuck was with the men in my life and my mail? Did any of them realize mail tampering was a Federal offense, not to mention fucking rude? “Leave my shit alone.”
“Sorry. Wasn’t thinking. But tell me—what kind of good man sends a rookie recruit into a were’s lair on her first assignment, huh?”
“I wasn’t a rookie!” I retaliated. “And we’ve been through this before. He didn’t send me—I volunteered. I knew what I was doing.”
“You were a rookie with the Supernatural.”
“Bullshit,” I protested. “I’m a witch myself!”
“Yes, but that’s different. While you were with the police, you were protected by rules. Out there with the jellybeans—well, anything goes. He should have prepared you better before sending you out to get killed.”
“How so? He can’t possibly shield me from everything.”
“Yet somehow you’re always pushed out in front whenever there’s a hint of danger in the deal. That goblin’s a crafty piece of shit, and I wouldn’t trust him any further than I could throw him.”
My blood was boiling. I could damned well look after myself. “Hey, I spoke to Harrison tonight, you didn’t. He was really upset about me, I tell you. He was going nuts on the phone, worried out of his mind.”
“Talk is cheap, Dionne.”
Liam scrunched up his face and I knew it was pointless arguing any more. And I didn’t like where our conversation was going.
My attention returned to the postcard now sitting directly in front of him. “Was the first victim magical?”
Liam shook his head. “Not that I know of. Strictly human according to his file.”
Hmm. Then he couldn’t possibly have seen what I’d seen. “Why the hell would anyone worry about a stupid postcard?” I looked about my own apartment. If I was about to get murdered, I’d find something more valuable to save. No. Let me go back. I wouldn’t think about my shit at all. I’d just get the hell out of there and run like crazy.”
“Well, maybe they weren’t expecting someone to actually murder them.” Liam downed the last of his cider and stared wistfully into the empty bottle.
“You want another?” I offered, motioning to the refrigerator. “I assume you’re off duty.”
“No, I’d better be off,” he said, sliding off the barstool and returning the small plastic bag to his coat pocket. “Some other time, maybe.”
I nodded. It was getting late, and although my bath bomb spell would be ruined by now, I could still enjoy sinking into the warm water. I walked with Liam to the door, wishing I’d been able to cheer him up before he’d left, but that was beyond my kind of magic.
“If you figure this one out, you’ll let me know, right?” I asked.
“Sure. You’ll be the first person I’ll call, I promise.”
I nodded, knowing he would. Liam never said anything he didn’t mean.
I was about to close the door on him when he turned in the hall. “Be careful,” he said, echoing his earlier caution. “I might not be magic, but I have a funny feeling in my blood about this one.”
So did I. “Thanks,” I said. “I will.”
I closed the door gently behind him, this time double locking it just to be sure, and returned to the bathroom. A moment later, I was naked again and sinking into the warm water. As I’d suspected, all the bubbles had gone—the story of my life. But there was still enough heat to make me feel good, and I clo
sed my eyes, enjoying the peace and quiet.
3
Just Coffee
Harrison was sitting in our office picking through the post when I got in. Usually messing with the mail was the privilege of the junior partner. Me. Unless he was waiting for something particular.
“Anything good?” I asked, chewing on my blueberry bagel and plopping my Starbucks latte down on my desk.
“Mostly bills,” he said absently. “Nothing of importance.”
“Are you expecting something?” I asked, thinking this new bagel shop was destined for great things.
“Not especially.”
“How’d it go with Andres last night?” I asked. “You get lucky?”
“Why is your mind always in the sewer?” He dismissed my question with a flick of his hand.
“Because it’s fun down there.” I grinned.
Harrison sighed and sat back in his seat. He eyed me intently. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”
I shrugged. “How could you have known? Anyway,” I continued, looking out of the window, “new dawn, new day, and all that. What have we got on today? Anything exciting come in overnight?”
“Exciting, no. But I did get a call from Albert.”
My ears perked up. “Oh, yea?” Albert was the mark I was supposed to be protecting last night. I instantly thought about the dress. Oh, no…. Don’t make me take it back.
“Yes. He hasn’t canceled after all. In fact, after last night he is upping his security. He has someone with him right now, but he wants us to step in and start a twenty-four-hour watch until he thinks the threat has passed. I said you and I could cover him in shifts. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure,” I said. Babysitting was usually dull and uneventful work, but it sure paid the bills.
“Good.”
Harrison tossed a pleasantly thick brown envelope on the table between us. “What’s that?”
A Postcard From Hell Page 2
