by C. M. Cevis
~ ~
THE DINER THAT ALEX HAD ridden to was called Ethel’s. It didn’t do a ridiculous amount of business, but the family that owned it had raised several kids and put them through college on what they did make. The food was good, the prices were reasonable, and the coffee was amazing. Add to that the fact that they didn’t mind when Alex came in and spread his papers all over the place, and they had won themselves a regular.
Today, the papers he’d spread about weren’t notes for a lecture but notes from a case file. Three case files, actually. He’d tucked the crime scene photos back inside the closed folder—they were pretty graphic, and he didn’t want to freak anyone out. Instead, he read the reports that he’d been given, keeping an eye out for anything helpful.
The first victim was a woman found six weeks ago on the loading dock of a motel downtown. She’d had what had originally been marked as cuts across 52% of the front of her body, and was missing almost all of her blood. A twenty-three-year-old college senior in town to visit her family. According to her parents, they couldn’t think of a reason she’d have been anywhere near the neighborhood where her body had been found. A young, pretty, well-off girl majoring in accounting didn’t seem the type to frequent a place like a motel that rented rooms by the hour, and the loading dock location struck Alex as especially odd. Like it hadn’t been planned to leave her there, it had just happened that way. Maybe the killer had been startled by something and panicked.
The second victim was a man found three-and-a-half weeks ago behind an abandoned house. The grass had grown tall enough that the body hadn’t been discovered until it started to smell and draw rodents. The man’s body was injured in a similar way to the female victim, except his clothes weren’t bloodied or torn. It looked like the man had been stripped, murdered, cleaned up halfway, and then redressed in his clean clothes. There had been no blood at the scene, just like the female victim. However, this man held no lifestyle similarities to the other victim. He was thirty-one-years old, unemployed, and lived at home with his parents. They lived in a small row home that had been willed to them when a parent had died.
And then the newest victim, a thirty-seven-year old male lawyer at a pretty well-to-do law firm. There were no similarities linking the dump sites or the victims. They all seemed to be random. But Alex agreed with the thought that they had all been killed by the same killer. The injuries, while not the same, were similar enough for him to think that someone—or something—was learning. That was a scary thought, but not uncommon when it came to baby serial killers. He couldn’t give Nick anything concrete, but knowing Nick, he knew that there wasn’t a lot to go on. He’d probably just wanted to see of Alex agreed, and he did.
“Brenda, can I get one last cup of coffee to go?” Alex called out to the sweetest woman he’d ever met. Her generation currently ran the diner, and her husband was a fabulous cook. They also had two kids that the diner was putting through college, one that wanted to be a doctor.
“Sure, hun, let me get it going for you,” she called back. Alex gathered up the folder contents and put everything back the way he’d found it before slipping it back into his bag. He got up and met Brenda at the counter to pay his bill.
“Here you go,” she said, handing him the large coffee and his bill. Alex added a $100 tip onto a $15 bill, signed it, and walked out before she could object. Her family and her kids deserved that money, and he wouldn’t let her talk him into reducing the tip. Instead, he trotted over to his bike, started a call to Nick, and hit the Bluetooth headset before slipping his helmet on over it.
7
THE DRIVE OUT TO WHERE Willow was meeting Chloe took about an hour. They always met somewhere outside of city limits, somewhere they wouldn't disturb anyone with their lessons. Chloe had actually found the clearing they were currently using, and it had served them well. Of course, if anyone came hiking through those woods and stumbled onto that area, they'd be completely confused. Green lush woods filled with nature gave way to plant carnage, complete with scorch marks, a few uprooted trees, and holes randomly blown into things.
Chloe was sitting in the middle of the chaos when Willow approached. The light breeze whipped her dark hair—straightened today—long enough to almost completely cocoon her head.
Her eyes were closed, and she sat on top of a sheared tree trunk with her legs folded underneath her. She looked so peaceful there, meditating in the midst of the silence. Willow glanced to her side and sent a large rock hurtling towards Chloe's head. Just before it collided, Chloe leapt off her seat and just far enough to her right to avoid the rock's path.
"Good to see you too," she laughed.
"I knew you weren't meditating for real," Willow replied with a smirk.
"If I had been, you'd have crushed my head," Chloe replied.
"It would have been a crush of love, if that makes you feel better."
Chloe shrugged. "Eh. Kind of," she said, as the two moved towards each other, and hugged each other warmly.
“Have you been practicing?” Willow asked, getting right to the reason they were there. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to hang out with Chloe—she always made room for their training. She just had quite a few things to get done that day.
“Mhmm. Watch,” Chloe said, turning to face a small tree at the edge of the decimation. “Split,” she whispered. The tree shivered for a moment, and then tore in two, straight down the tree shaft, as if some great invisible set of hands had simply had enough of its shit and tore it in half.
Willow smiled, pride in her eyes. “Wonderful. Now, let’s try it with something bigger. The idea is that doing this with something inanimate will make it easier if you have to do it with something that isn’t.”
Chloe made a face. “That sounds incredibly messy.”
Willow chuckled. “Oh it is, make no mistake,” she said, turning and holding out a hand toward a tree trunk that was about half the width of her hips. “Now come on. Try that one. Concentrate.”
Chloe turned to face the larger tree and frowned. She took a deep breath and stared at it, as if that would simply bend its will to hers. Then finally, she said the word.
“Split.”
Nothing happened.
Willow snickered. “Remember what I told you about not having the confidence to back up the spell.”
Chloe nodded, her face betraying her discouragement. “Yeah. If I think that I’m not strong enough to pull it off, the magic will oblige me.” She repeated it from memory, a statement that Willow had almost beat into her head.
“That’s right. Now try again. And this time, try and be a bit more badass about it,” Willow said with a grin as she bumped shoulders with Chloe playfully.
Chloe smiled and nodded again. “Right.” She turned back toward the tree, and a moment later, it cracked in two.
8
THE POLICE STATION IN DOWNTOWN Baltimore was in the strangest place, in Willow’s opinion. It was literally the next street over from The Block. Who puts a police station next to all the strip clubs in the area? Other than whoever was in control of city construction when that location was chosen, apparently.
Willow climbed out of her truck, closed and locked the doors, checked her teeth for lipstick in the side mirror, and trotted up to the booth to pay for a few hours of parking since the last thing that she needed was to come out to find her car towed or booted. Then she walked the few blocks from the lot to the police station and slipped inside.
The front desk, or what seemed like the front desk, seemed to be manned by two officers who were bored out of their minds. Willow smirked, and slipped past them as if she belonged there. She’d found that people assumed you belonged if you acted like you did. The police station wasn’t immune to that rule.
The hallway that Willow turned down was dim and rather drab. Then again, the people who frequented it weren’t really there for the stimulating art pieces, so she guessed it didn’t really matter. The last door on the right was where she was heading, and it
was open.
“Captain Blackmore,” she said from the doorway.
The beautiful woman behind the desk looked up from the paperwork with a flash of relief until she met Willow’s eyes. She frowned. “You are?”
Willow placed an introductory hand on her chest. “Willow Andrews. You know, you should really get a livelier bunch near the door.” She smiled sweetly.
“You managed to get all the way here, to my office, without anyone stopping you?” the captain asked.
“Yes ma’am.” Willow moved into the office and took a seat in one of the empty chairs across the desk from the captain.
“Thanks for the tip.” The captain closed the folder in front of her and slipped her pen back into a small cup on her desk. “So, Ms. Andrews, the NYPD wouldn’t bother telling me why you had to leave New York, only that you had to, and that your move might be helpful to my officers.” She paused, seemingly waiting for Willow to expound on why she’d moved. Instead, Willow simply smiled.
“Odd,” she said lightly.
“Let me guess: You aren’t going to tell me either?”
“Tell you what, Captain?” Willow asked, knowing damn well what.
“Was it something that you should have been arrested for?” Captain Blackmore tried.
Willow smiled, but that was all the police woman was getting out of her. “Is there something in particular that you want me to talk about today? Something pertinent? Or am I free to just start talking?” Willow asked. It was time to get to the meat of the conversation.
Nina made a face, but let it go. “Your choice. The guys need knowledge, and I’m told that you can give it to them. If you don’t mind, I’d like to sit in on this one,” Nina said.
Willow understood immediately that the captain was sitting in to make sure Willow behaved, not to learn from what Willow had to tell the police officers. “That’s fine. Anyone that you feel could benefit can sit in. I don’t mind being the center of attention,” Willow responded. She suppressed a grin as Nina’s eyes trailed over the fitted jeans, stiletto pumps, and corset top under a short-sleeved button up.
“I bet you don’t,” she muttered.
Willow ignored it. She thought she’d managed to dress casually, but some people didn’t agree that a corset was casual when covered. Whatever. She had to work after this, and she didn’t have time to go change first. She was being practical.
Nina motioned for Willow to follow her as she got up from her chair. She led Willow down several hallways just as dim as the one that her office was on, until finally they entered what appeared to be a good-sized presentation room with the beginnings of her audience milling about. It wasn’t much, just an open space with some chairs, but it would do. Willow hadn’t always been fancy.
“Ms. Andrews,” Nina began. Willow stopped her with a head shake.
“Please, Willow is just fine,” she said. Nina gave a curt nod of acknowledgement. That was going to get annoying. Willow hated it when other women disliked her for no reason. The least the captain could do was wait until Willow had been in the city long enough to give her one.
“Willow, then. This is Detective Dukas, head of DCS. It’s his team that you’re going to be speaking to today,” Nina said.
Willow turned to face a familiar face. “Nice to see you again, Detective,” Willow said. Nina looked between the two of them, clearly confused, but Willow saw no reason to explain. Maybe one day, when the woman was willing to give her a fair shake instead of assuming that she knew her.
“You didn’t tell me that you were the help that the NYPD sent us,” Nick said. Willow could see that little corner of distrust every cop had. She figured it came with the job. Plus, she hadn’t really given him a reason to trust her the other night, had she?
“You didn’t tell me that you were the head of the DCS, so I guess we’re even,” Willow replied with a smirk, as more officers, both uniformed and not, began to enter the room. “How about you, Detective—is there anything in particular that you want me to talk about today? Or would you prefer to look me over like you know me and tell me to talk about whatever I want to, like your captain did?”
The smile never left Willow’s face as she spoke. She could tell that Nick could hear the annoyance in her tone, and Nina’s face darkened. Willow didn’t care. If she wasn’t willing to take the fall for her choices, why make them?
“Uh, anything is fine. Maybe start with what you know best?” Nick asked.
“Sure,” Willow responded, before moving to the side of the room to wait for her turn to speak.
That little poke had probably given Nina the justification for her dislike, but that would change. It always did. Willow was not a fan of women who didn’t lift other women up, and while normally she might have allowed her the opportunity to explain her reasons, she wasn’t in the mood today. Both she and Nina were too old for that kind of bullshit. She’d just deal with the dislike for now.
“Alright, everyone, settle down,” Nick called out from the front of the room. The other officers stopped milling about and began to make their way to the chairs that had been placed for them. “We’ve got a presentation today—a gift from the NYPD.”
A round of jeers and snickers met his sentence, and Willow chuckled to herself.
“Yeah, yeah, calm down,” Nick said, waving his hands in a “settle down” motion. “This is going to be one of several talks like this. I’ve been told that our speaker today is a subject matter expert. Behave, ladies and gentlemen. Miss Willow Andrews,” he said, motioning to the back of the room where Willow stood. There was a small round of hesitant applause as she made her way to the front of the room, and settled in, leaning back against a table.
“Good morning, all. I hope this didn’t drag you out of bed before you were ready, since I know a lot of you work long hours and late nights. For what it’s worth, I did argue for this to be more of a lunch thing, but I was shot down,” she said with a smile as a chuckle traveled around the room.
At the back of the space, right about where she’d been standing, a spark ignited mid-air and began to grow.
“I’m here this morning to help you all with your knowledge of the preternatural, since those cases are the ones that you will be handling. I understand that a few of you are rather green, so your higher-ups thought that this might give you a little boost,” she said. The spark had grown into a ball of fire about the size of her head and was rapidly getting larger and larger. It was a wonder no one had noticed it yet.
“I was told to talk about what I know best to start, so today, we’re going to talk about witches.”
The large ball of fire came flying towards the front of the room, blowing gusts of hot hair around, knocking off hats, throwing papers and files to the side, and shocking the hell out of everyone. The fire slammed into Willow and dissipated, leaving her perfectly in tact.
“I know it best, because I am one.”
The room was deathly silent, with Willow now the total and complete center of attention. Just the way she wanted. She looked directly into Nina’s wide, shocked eyes, and the captain nodded, just slightly. Willow nodded in return before turning to the rest of her audience.
“Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?” she said, launching into it. Willow’s plan was to cover everything that she knew would help an officer faced with a witch or warlock. “Being a witch is hereditary, as is the strength of the magic they hold. Magic is stronger in females than it is in males, though no one has been able to tell why, scientifically speaking. My mother was a very powerful witch, while my father was about average in the power department for males. Understand that the average range for men is much lower than it is for women, so I’d advise that you always use caution when faced with a female.”
A young guy in the front raised his hand, which Willow found adorable, and she nodded in his direction.
“Is there any way for us to tell on sight how strong someone is?” he asked.
Willow made a face. “Not really. But I wi
ll say this: if you are faced with someone that looks to have a lot of scarring, assume that he or she is abnormally strong, and watch your ass.”
“Scarring?” someone else asked.
“If a person seeks help from a being that isn’t the nicest on the block, something like a fallen angel, then he or she proves they are serious by giving the being blood. Blood is a powerful additive to a lot of things, and the more power you want, the more you’ll have to give. A lot of scarring means they’ve asked a lot of whom or whatever they’re working with,” Willow explained. Nods of understanding went around the room.
“Seeking out that kind of help, using blood-fueled magic, is generally frowned on in the community. Not only is it seen as a sign of weakness, but it’s also a dangerous and unstable source of power. Anyone who uses it puts themselves and those around them at risk. And while I’d like to say the use of blood sacrifice for power is rare, it’s actually more prevalent than any of us would like.”
“What about you?” Nick asked from the back of the room. “Do you use blood magic?” he asked.
Willow gave him a look and a smirk. “Do I look like I’d need blood magic?” She rocked her hip out to the side as the room laughed. “No, I don’t, though I do have the knowledge of how to safely. My grandmother was a Native American mystic, and the knowledge has been passed down from her to my mother to me. I have it if I need it, but I don’t use it if I can help it.” Willow crossed her arms and hoped that would be the end of that line of questioning. Having to explain that a mystic was so much more than most non-native people thought was more than she’d signed up for.
When no one spoke up, she changed the subject. “I am a clairvoyant. I get categorized that way because that is my most prominent ability. Understand that the palm readers and fortune-tellers that you see with shops set up around here, or on infomercials, are a toned-down version of what I am and what I can do. They might have some ability, but for them it’s more of a hint, an inkling of something when they are in direct contact with you.”
