by Antara Mann
I hated these sudden flashes of premonition — coming spontaneously like that, without even the smallest warning or sign, they threw me off balance.
“Alex, are you okay?” Brendan took my hand and turned to Rumford. “She needs water.”
Rumford pressed a buzzer on his desk and requested a bottle of water, and in only a few moments a young woman appeared and handed it to me. Strangely enough, I sensed magic. Was it plausible that Elliott Rumford was a supernatural? When I took the bottle the girl handed me, I glanced at her and caught my breath. She was definitely non-human. I looked at my colleagues and exchanged glances with the shifters, who nodded in confirmation.
Staring at the girl, I could feel her magic tempting me, raw and enticing. It took me a few seconds to realize she possessed sexual magic. I caught an amused look on Kagan’s face. This servant was most definitely a succubus. But what the hell was she doing in here?
“Are you feeling better, miss?” Rumford hesitated. “You seem… confused. Is everything all right?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes, I am much better, thank you.”
Rumford nodded to the woman, and she left the room. This was peculiar — despite the fact that he was interested in the occult, he seemed unaware he had a succubus working for him, living under his roof. If he did know, then he was a marvelous actor, but he didn’t strike me as the type. He seemed to have a cold, calculating personality, and judging by the quick flash of premonition I had experienced, it seemed likely he’d committed some crime to climb up the financial ladder. Rumford introduced us to his lawyer, Mr. Weber.
“So what can we help you with, inspectors?” the attorney began. “Please forgive me for saying so, but my client is rather pressed for time, so we’ll appreciate it if we can get through this quickly.”
“As you know,” Brendan began, “we’re here to question your client about Daniel Stone’s murder. How long had you two been friends, Mr. Rumford?”
Rumford thought for a moment before saying, “For quite some time. I met Daniel through UCB where I was a client. We clicked, and we started hanging out, practicing sports together — tennis, soccer, that sort of thing. We became really close friends in the past few years, though.”
“Were there any other interests that you two shared?”
“I don’t recall,” Rumford replied immediately.
“And what about the occult?” Carlos interjected. “We learned from UCB’s deputy CEO, Mr. Larson, about your occult club, the Hollow Skull.”
The lawyer and his client exchanged quick glances.
Rumford chuckled. “I wouldn’t describe our society as ‘occult.’ We’re just a bunch of intellectuals who gather to play cards and drink whiskey. Sometimes we discuss politics and other such trivial matters, but that’s all.”
He was definitely lying, though he was good at it: He maintained eye contact and didn’t hesitate or flinch. I wasn’t surprised. He was the occult club’s president, after all; he had to have practice in keeping his cool.
“Right.” Brendan suppressed a frown. “But according to Larson, you and Mr. Stone were interested in supernatural matters.”
“I’m afraid the poor man is delusional. Perhaps he was in shock and confused after the murder. As I said, my club is pretty boring and ordinary.”
“Is this also delusional, Mr Rumford?” Carlos had taken out the Hollow Skull’s sliced skull statuette. It seemed to me Rumford’s face paled a shade, but he regained his composure quickly.
“That is mine, yes. A silly item my ex-wife bought in South America — Peru, I think. The indigenous tribes use such statuettes for protection against evil spirits and the like.”
We all exchanged looks — the bastard was on his guard and clearly didn’t intend to reveal anything to us. This was going to be harder than we’d thought.
“Do you know whether Mr. Stone was interested in the occult?” I asked.
He darted a look at me. He contemplated a second before replying, then looked straight into his lawyer’s eyes and nodded curtly.
Mr. Weber said, “My client can’t comment on Mr. Stone’s private life and interests, detectives.”
“Mr. Stone’s girlfriend, Christina Ricoletti, said that shortly before his death, Mr. Stone had been obsessed with dark magic and had met some sort of a sorcerer.”
Elliott Rumford chuckled. “Since when do the Staten Island police believe in that nonsense? A sorcerer, really? It’s the twenty-first century, after all. Don’t make me laugh.”
“Where were you on October fifth between ten and eleven p.m., Mr. Rumford?” Brendan asked.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I was in a restaurant — Gatto Nero — at a business meeting.”
“Can anyone confirm it?” I asked.
“Sure, the restaurant staff and Laura Clark, the lady I was meeting with.”
“Mr. Rumford, this is a very serious matter. Needless to say, we won’t be happy if you’re hiding important information or impeding the investigation into Mr. Stone’s murder. I’m asking you once more: Do you know anything about the victim's occult inclinations, Mr. Rumford?”
“As much as I’d like to help you, I’m afraid I cannot. I have already told you everything I know. Now, if there is nothing else I can help you with, you’ll have to excuse me. I have some work to do.”
He was definitely lying, but why? Was he afraid to say what he knew, or was he trying to cover for the culprit?
“You’re lying, Mr. Rumford,” Brendan said quietly. He approached Rumford’s desk, his eyes gleaming the light yellow shade of his inner animal.
Elliott Rumford cringed slightly. “I’ve told you everything I know, inspectors. I must ask you to leave my property at once,” he said adamantly.
“You must be making a hell of a lot of money, aren’t you?” Kagan intervened. Until now, he had stayed silent and watched Brendan lead the questioning, with Carlos’s occasional intervention.
Rumford was taken aback. “I don’t see what that has with Daniel’s murder.”
“Mr. Rumford, I am Kagan Griffith, chairman and CEO of Griffith Enterprises. In case you’re asking yourself what the hell am I doing here — and you are — I add color to my everyday life by helping the police. I have no idea why you are lying to us or what you are hiding, but if you don’t start talking and tell us everything you know about Daniel Stone, I promise you will regret it. Now, what else do you know about Stone’s murder?” Kagan had come over to Rumford, leaning toward him slightly. His potent, ancient magic pulsated tangibly in the air around us, giving me goosebumps. It felt like a thunderstorm brewing. I looked at Carlos and Brendan, and saw that they were on alert, their senses sharpened, and ready to attack at any moment should the need arise.
“Very well.” Elliott Rumford rested his hands on the desk, but his attorney intervened.
“Elliott, I strongly suggest you —” but Rumford cut him off ruthlessly.
“Shut up, Max.” He took a deep breath and turned to us. “I'll tell you everything.”
We all nodded and Rumford continued reluctantly. “Okay, you are right. The Hollow Skull is an occult club, but we haven’t done anything illegal. There’s no dark magic, no sacrifices — not even animal ones, for that matter. Daniel joined our club a year or so ago, along with the deputy CEO, Jamey Larson. For the last month or two, though, Daniel was asking me a lot of questions about sacrifices and dark magic. He’d found some books about it, and really gotten a bee in his bonnet. I know that such things exist, but I’ve never wanted to get involved — it’s too dangerous. Frankly, it scares the shit out of me. I tried to dissuade Daniel, but it was in vain — he wouldn’t hear a thing. Even his stupid girlfriend talked to him, but he wouldn’t listen to anyone.”
He took a deep breath and sighed, then continued, “So, about two weeks ago, he mentioned that he’d met a sorcerer. He never told me his name — he said ‘names are very powerful’ — but he was calling him the Rune Keeper.”
“The
Rune Keeper,” Kagan repeated, thoughtfully. The name didn’t ring a bell with me.
“And that’s pretty much everything I know. From what Daniel told me about this guy, the sorcerer, it freaked me out. Daniel spoke zealously of revolution, a totally new occult society, glorifying demons and the dark side. I didn’t know how to keep him on the right track.”
“In that case, it seems you had a motive to kill him — to get rid of him and his obsession with dark magic,” Kagan mused.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I tell you this, if that were the case? It would be cutting my own throat.”
“Did Mr. Stone tell you where he’d met this sorcerer?” Brendan asked, rejoining the conversation for the first time since the fae had taken control of it.
“No, he didn’t. But I believe he might have met him in the Hellfire Club.”
The Hellfire Club again! First we were attacked there, now the sorcerer turned up in connection to it. I exchanged looks with Brendan. We’d have to go back immediately there and dig up all the information we could.
“And how did he find his way to the club? From what I understand, it is a very exclusive venue,” Kagan said.
Rumford’s eyebrows drew together as he thought. “I think Daniel mentioned once having visited another occult club — some kind of Wiccan coven or something, but for men only.” He put his hands on his head, as if to help him remember. “This is all a bit too much for me. I know supernatural powers exist, but I’ve never wanted to meddle with them.” He looked up, meeting my eyes. “Daniel invited me once to attend a meeting with him, but I declined. I didn’t want to get involved. Maybe he would still be alive if I had gone with him.”
“There’s no point in blaming yourself. What’s done is done,” I replied.
“What was the name of that Wiccan coven?” Brendan asked.
Rumford shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember. I’m not good with names. However, I have the feeling he’d gotten his books from there. He must have — I can’t imagine anywhere else he could have gotten them from.” He thought hard for a few seconds, then added, “Maybe I should have gone to that Hellfire Club also, to get to know that sorcerer. But I was such a coward. I was — and still am — afraid of those supernatural powers. You know, the past few times Daniel and I got together, he seemed different, and not in a good way. He was starting to really scare me.” He sounded sincere and we all felt it.
***
As we passed through the hallways on our way out, we saw another maid cleaning one of the large rooms; by the magic I felt inside her, she was a succubus as well. She caught my gaze and looked at me intently. I looked away, burying my magic deep down inside of me, and continued walking down the black-and-white corridor.
“Well, we got off to a rocky start but we still managed to get some information out of him,” I said once the butler had shown us out.
“Yeah, it started going well after Kagan threatened him. Good job, by the way,” Brendan said.
The fae nodded to him.
“He was trying to play the innocent because of the Hollow Skull’s orgies,” the werewolf remarked.
“Yes, there were strong sexual vibrations in the air,” Kagan agreed. “They attract the succubi, and then the sexual vibrations compound. You know, the law of attraction.” He looked at me and smiled.
Why the hell was this guy staring at me?
“I think you felt it too — or, rather, saw it. I’m very interested in your ability to read environments and places. Very few supernaturals can do it, and they are exceptionally powerful.”
“What are you talking about?” I stopped in my tracks and turned to face him. This fae was up to something. I had always known I was different, not merely an elemental mage as I claimed to the outside world. If he knew something more, I wanted him to tell me. For magic’s sake, I would turn twenty-five in a few months! I had the right to know about my real magic.
“Easy there, lass. I’m just making an observation, nothing more. That’s why they’ve assigned me, after all — to supervise your investigation.” He smiled and walked past me.
“I suggest we all head to the Hellfire Club and look for that mysterious sorcerer. We need to catch the bastard,” Brendan said.
We all agreed and looked expectantly at Kagan, thinking he would teleport us. But he had stopped in the middle of the lawn and his face took on a serious expression. I knew that look very well: Brendan had it, too, when he was communicating with the Magic Council. We tactfully moved aside and left him alone.
I looked around at the beautifully maintained roses and violets in the garden. The energy here was quite gentle and innocuous, a strong contrast to the predatory sexual magic that prevailed inside the mansion. There was a lot of debauchery at the Hollow Skull parties, no doubt. I let my thoughts wander freely on the opulent nature landscape round us.
In a few minutes, Kagan rejoined us.
“What’s up with the Council?” Carlos asked.
I glanced at Brendan — he had a grumpy expression on his face. It must have wounded his pride that he wasn’t the leader of our investigation any longer, and that the Council didn’t communicate with him first. I hoped his ego wouldn’t make him do or say anything stupid. In many cases, beta males like him — even though he would never confess to being one — have large, fragile egos.
“Bad news, indeed,” Kagan said, making me forget about Brendan’s ego. “There’s been another ritualistic murder, just like Daniel Stone’s.”
Chapter 9
“What?” I exclaimed. Even though Brendan had hinted that this might happen, I was still surprised. The two shifters exchanged worried glances as well. This whole case was heading steeply downhill.
“What in magic’s name is going on?” Carlos said.
“I don’t like this. I don’t like it in the least,” Brendan said, more to himself than any of us. I could tell he was agitated: His eyes had acquired the light yellow color of his inner animal, and the taste of magic radiating from him was like waves just before a sea storm.
“The victim is a homeless man this time. He was killed in a backstreet of one of the poorer districts in Queens. Again nobody saw a thing, and the sign of the Holy Order of Shadows is on the victim’s chest as well.”
“We have to put an end to this insanity,” Brendan said angrily, clenching his fists.
“I wholeheartedly agree. It sounds like the Courts of Heaven and Hell are on the worst terms since the Second World War. Alex and I are going to the crime scene, and you two are going to the Hellfire Club,” Kagan ordered.
“I beg your pardon?” Brendan raised his voice and I felt my heartbeat speed up. This is what I meant by ‘don’t do anything stupid’!
“Don’t argue with me, werewolf,” Kagan replied, unimpressed by Brendan’s tone. “We have to manage our time wisely, and act quickly. There’s no need for everyone to be on the new crime scene or see the victim. Two people are more than enough for that.”
“But it’s too early for the Hellfire Club. It won’t even be open yet.”
I glanced at my wristwatch — it showed almost ten a.m. Brendan was probably right.
“Then stake it out,” the fae snapped. “I want to know what’s going on over there. This club has come up in several of your lines of questioning, and it is always connected with that mysterious sorcerer. Someone needs to watch that place very closely.”
“In that case, let Alex accompany Carlos, and I’ll go with you. I insist.”
Kagan smiled broadly. “I’m calling the shots here, mate.”
“I am a senior investigator of the Magic Council.” Brendan stood his ground, coming over to the fae and looking him straight in the eyes.
“Yes, that’s true, but I’m in charge of this investigation now. Get over it.” Kagan glared at him. He was beginning to be slightly annoyed, and I knew I didn’t want to see him really angry. Bearing in mind his powerful, ancient magic, it was clear that his outburst would resemble that of a volcano,
or a dragon breathing fire.
Brendan didn’t move, and they stared at each other intently, ready to attack each other at any moment.
“You don’t want to disappoint the Magic Council, do you?” Kagan said in a lower voice, not turning his gaze away from Brendan. “Now, do as you’re told and go with Carlos to the Hellfire Club.”
With a glance at me, Brendan reluctantly obeyed him. I gave the two shifters some of my transport charm, and the fairy dust took them through the void.
“That was a bit difficult,” the fae commented. “Is he always like this?”
I didn’t know what to say, so I kept silent.
“I thought so. Why did I bother asking?” he said, more to himself than to me. “Okay, never mind. Let’s get to the crime scene.” He concentrated and his magic intensified, creating a vibrating field of power around us. I heard some ancient rhythm and magical runes seemed to pulse in silver-yellowish light in the air. A vortex appeared and grabbed me by the waist, and I heard myself screaming before I disappeared into the void.
***
The magic spat us out on a miserable street in a poor part of town. All sorts of noises reached our ears, from rap music and jangling kitchen utensils to the chatter of police radios. I saw a couple of police cars, and braced myself for what I was about to behold.
“Ready?” Kagan asked, standing next to me.
Is he reading my mind? But he didn’t wait for an answer, merely gave me a smile and began walking toward the crime scene, and I had to rush catch up with his confident stride.
We crossed an intersection and saw, on the right side of the sidewalk, the familiar yellow crime-scene tape. A group of police officers stood around the body, perhaps looking for evidence. When Kagan and I came close enough, one of the officers stopped us, but Kagan showed his ID. Brendan had one too; they were specially enchanted NYPD police badges, casting a glamour so that whenever a police officer saw it, they would believe we were detectives assigned to that particular case, and let us pass.
