by Jory Strong
“Flying will be fastest. You’ll have to find your wings and learn to manage them.”
Mierda. Now he was supposed to pretend to be an angel?
Ianthe laughed. Or a demon. But I think your grandfather means for your spirit to take a bird’s form.
And I do this how?
Let me guide you. We’ll be a pair of ravens.
It suited her, given her flowing black hair. Given what she’d once been. You’re the boss.
Her wicked smile sent a pulse of heat straight to his cock. It was accompanied by images of what she might do if he handed over his cuffs and surrendered all control.
Follow my lead, she said.
He did, surprised that rather than demanding fierce concentration, finding his wings involved letting go, holding the image lightly and denying the limits imposed by human flesh and heavy bones.
A thrill shot through him at looking down to see a black feathered chest. He decided to hold off freaking out over this latest twist until leaving Talocan.
The shine of a seashell caught his attention. He hopped toward it with the same excitement as a kid spying candy—or a detective on a clue.
Ianthe launched herself. An ethereal sapphire-blue string trailed in her wake, tugging at him until he followed her, lifting onto a warm sea breeze.
Joy bubbled upward, swelling with flight.
He dived.
Rolled in tandem with Ianthe.
Lost himself in surreal sensation until a gull joined them, snapping at wing feathers with its mustard-yellow beak and telling them with shrill scolding there was no time to play.
The gull—his grandfather—took the lead and they followed.
Sea gave way to cemeteries Miguel had walked before at his grandfather’s side, the crunch of bones loud in his ears. The graveyard went on and on, seemingly forever, but that was an illusion.
A dive broke the plane, changing the landscape beneath them at his tatarabuelo’s will.
They landed beyond a white-picket fence and became human again. “She’ll find us,” his grandfather said. “Word will reach her. If it doesn’t before your time is done, you’ll know where to come. This is North. It is ruled by the Lord of Winds and the Lord of Death. It’s the place souls first come. They’re cared for here until they can choose to go elsewhere.”
“This is where you live?”
“No. I roam. Talocan is not new to me. I have come here since I was a boy and have made many friends and allies.”
“What about enemies?”
“Yes. You’ll make them too.”
Not exactly a comforting thought.
Miguel leaned against the fence. The wind was brisk and cold. It tugged at his clothing, seemed to tug at his heart as if to rip it from his body.
He rubbed his chest. His grandfather caught the gesture.
“You must always remain aware and careful, not only here, but in the land of the living now that you walk this one. The winds are used to gather souls.”
It dawned on him that his grandfather hadn’t greeted or mentioned Ianthe’s presence. He hadn’t commented, hadn’t asked for an introduction.
Avoidance? Did he see her? Did she appear human?”
Curiosity got the better of Miguel. “My companion is—
His grandfather turned away with a visible shiver of fear. “Don’t talk of such things here. The lords and ladies are jealous of their territory. I would not want to be questioned by them about what I know.”
So his grandfather understood Ianthe was something other than human.
“Before I found you in Apan,” Miguel said, using the name for the island-dotted sea, “I was in a place with mist and boiling springs.”
“You were in the South. It is full of monsters. Why did you go there?”
“I was thinking about my cousin. Could you help me find him?”
“Maybe. When you know more.”
Excitement surged through Miguel, like the one he’d felt at having his request to view the murder book granted after he wore the badge. He squeezed Ianthe’s hand, suddenly grateful to have this gift he would have kept denying if not for her.
Time stretched and grew thin. He had the sense his hold on this world was slipping away as daily routine and his physical body demanded his return.
You are right, Ianthe said.
A figure appeared in the distance, a woman.
Miguel had to fight against shuddering as she neared. She wore jeans and a hoodie, but she walked on skeleton feet. And though she didn’t lift her head, what he could see of her face was the white bone of skull and gaping shadow of soft tissue long ago eaten away.
Do you see her this way too?
With my eyes, I see what you see. But her soul leaves its own impression. She was young at her death, probably no more than twenty-five. She was made old by trading her body for the things she needed.
How can you tell?
Sex was once my trade, the sole reason for my existence. I was a master of creating lust, but I was nothing more than a tool, a possession, a slave to the demon lord who sent me into the human world to hunt and feed. I can see the marks left on her soul because of the way she lived, the damage done to it because of the choices she made.
The shrouded women knelt and took up a twig in a bone hand. Without tongue or lips, she couldn’t speak.
Miguel crouched as well, watched as she scratched landmarks into the dirt. Hard rectangles marked streets and the edge of town, roads blocked from deviating as they hit swamp. A crudely drawn boat preceded the squiggle of lines, indicating pathways through wetlands. Slashes formed saw grass plains. Thick upright marks became a grove of trees, these drawn in more detail so he knew they were mangroves. At their base her X prompted him to ask, “This is where your body is?”
She nodded.
“Can you tell me anything more?”
She shook her head, glanced over her shoulder then rose, hurrying away.
Miguel memorized the drawing. It gave him a starting point and a general direction. If her body was above water there was a chance of finding it. Submerged, he’d need to find a convincing reason to have a dive team search.
He stood. Swayed. His vision went dark, consciousness deserted him for the heartbeat of time it took to return to the world of the living.
When he opened his eyes he found Ian next to him, not Ianthe. It disoriented him for a second, and Ian took advantage, grasping Miguel’s cock and sending pleasure screaming upward to pass through parted lips as a moan.
“Welcome back,” Ian said, his smile completely predatory.
The hunger pouring off him flowed into Miguel so his hips lifted as pre-cum escaped through the slit in his cock head. Dios. How had he ever managed to pretend he didn’t want this? Didn’t need this? Though he recognized the bizarreness of asking, “Would I find Ianthe here if you’d been in Talocan?”
Ian’s teeth flashed white. He rolled on top of Miguel, muscled, heavy, hot, his hand opening to fist both of their cocks in a firm, masculine grip. “Careful, you’ll make me jealous of myself.”
Jesus. Miguel closed his eyes, fought against jerking Ian’s mouth down to his and spreading his legs in a blatant invitation to be fucked. “I need to get to work. You know that.”
The woman might have been dead for a while but maybe the possibility existed to find her body now, and that’s why she’d sought him out, though maybe it was his return to Florida that had triggered it. He cursed at not thinking to ask his grandfather.
Undeterred, Ian said, “The corpse can wait. Your partner and Khemirra can search for her. It’ll take you all of a moment to draw the map and use your phone to send it to Conner. He won’t need carefully worded explanations and he has a significant advantage over you in searching for the body. He’s mated to a werewolf. In her furred form, Khemirra’s nose will be invaluable. He’s on leave because of the shooting. He has time and the ready excuse that he was merely showing his woman the swamp.”
“Valid points,�
� Miguel conceded, seeing how it would play out after he and Ian fucked. Three minutes wouldn’t make a difference. Five if he managed to last that long with his cock already screaming to come at being pressed to Ian’s.
Ian’s mouth approached his and Miguel gripped the sheet rather than grab fistfuls of the long black hair Ian had in common with Ianthe. He should make Ian work for it, proving to both of them he could hold out against the hunger.
Ian’s laugh was husky and wicked. “Shall we time your resistance? For the record?”
Miguel surrendered on a moan. A concession mitigated by his rolling so Ian was beneath him before he slammed his mouth down on Ian’s, his tongue plunging past masculine lips in a show of equality that was precursor to a battle for dominance.
Chapter Four
Dylan rolled his shoulders, wishing the low-grade humming would stop. His skin was tight, uncomfortable, like a bad suit. Hell, he felt like shit.
He could blame it on lack of sleep. But in his gut, it was the way he’d handled things with Seraphine. Fuck, what was wrong with him?
He refused to compare himself to how Trace had been when he’d first hooked up with Aislinn.
Stepping into the homicide bullpen, he resisted the desire to close his hand into a fist or shove it into his pocket. Trying to hide the cut still visible across his palm would only draw more attention to it. The thing ached though it’d stopped weeping. But the way cops talked, the other guys had probably heard about his little spontaneous bleeding event.
Jesus. The last thing he wanted was to have it come to light how he’d gotten the injury in the first place. Because even he couldn’t deny it was the same slash he’d gotten handling Lucifer’s Blade.
He was positive there was a perfectly logical explanation, probably some kind of lingering weird-shit poison from a root in Haiti or something. Senator Harper and his wife had the money to dabble in that kind of stuff. It probably prevented complete healing, kind of like an abscess beneath the skin, so while everything looked good on top, trouble was brewing.
What a dumb-fuck move. In an act of supreme mercy, Skinner had kept his mouth shut about the rookie mistake. But then, Skinner was fascinated by the shit that had gone down at the Harpers’ house.
Brady looked up from a murder book on his desk. “I think it’s time for an intervention here. I heard it through the grapevine that our comrade needs a little help in steering him toward the right woman. What do you say, Storm?”
His partner shook her head. “The guy’s wearing a ring with a heartmate stone in it. He’s just being stubborn. Trace said he nearly had a spontaneous orgasm from the heat generated when Dylan met Seraphine.”
Brady smiled big. “A spontaneous orgasm, I’ve got to try one of those, Kid.”
Storm snickered in a way no self-respecting cop should. “Never too late, Pops.”
Dylan ignored them. Responding would only encourage them and prolong the torment.
He sat. Across the joined desks, Trace grinned. “What, no comment?”
Jesus he was glad none of the other cops in the bar last night had stepped outside and seen him with Seraphine. “The witch and me, not happening.”
Storm laughed. “Those sound like famous last words to me. Do they sound like that to you, Brady?”
“Sure do.”
Captain Ellis appeared in the doorway. “I see you guys are all hard at work, not sitting around bullshitting.”
Brady spread his arms. “Superior detectives that we are, The Kid and I are down to working cold cases.”
The captain shook his head but he was smiling. He turned his attention to Trace. “I just got a courtesy call from County. Nicole Harper was shanked right after breakfast. She bled out. It hasn’t hit the news yet but it will, and you can bet they’re going to rehash all of it, starting with VanDenbergh’s murder and sliding right into Anita Vorhaus and the senator’s little hobby of devil worship or black magic or whatever the hell he and his wife were doing in their secret room.”
“Who shanked her?” Trace asked, and Dylan could tell by his partner’s tone he didn’t like this turn of events. Hell, none of them did, and they all understood where Trace was coming from. That kind of attack wasn’t common on the women’s side of the jail.
The captain sighed, and with the sound, Dylan figured their commander had probably already started downing antacids. He confirmed it by saying, “I got a bad feeling about this. The woman’s name is Deana Young. She’s in for vehicular manslaughter, pretty much a slam dunk given her blood alcohol level at the scene. Ran a red light and t-boned another car. The other driver died in transit to the hospital.”
“Okay if I look at this?” Trace asked.
Captain Ellis huffed. “Any stopping you?”
“Not without a direct order.”
“Look, but try not to step on any toes. Okay?”
“You got it.”
The captain stepped out of the doorway. Brady said, “I like a money motive myself. Weren’t there a couple of boys who surfaced once you guys put Nicole in the slammer? Claimed the senator’s moolah should be their moolah, since he’d acknowledged they were his sons and paid their way from the get-go as long as they kept quiet while he was in public office.”
“Good recall, Pops,” Storm said. “Your memory is holding, though you forgot to mention their mother, the senator’s longtime mistress who lives in style in Miami.”
“I’m glad to see my sensitivity training is rubbing off on you, Kid.”
Dylan grinned and tapped Deana Young’s name on the keyboard before Trace could pull her record. “No violent priors. She was driving without a license after having racked up four DUI convictions. You want me to call Hale at County? See what he’s willing to give us? Chances are good he’s landed the job of doing the in-house investigation.”
“Do it.”
Dylan used his cell phone, going personal to personal.
“Why am I not surprised to hear from you?” Hale asked.
“Maybe you’re psychic.”
“Yeah right.”
“Deana Young.”
“Not saying a thing. And no one has come forward or slipped me a kite explaining motive for what went down.”
“She a disciplinary problem?”
“Not a single one noted in her file, either this stay in jail or her previous ones.”
“What do the guards say?”
“The ones I’ve spoken to so far, they’re surprised, or as surprised as anyone working this gig can be.”
“Visitors?”
“Up until about three weeks ago, when her sister started visiting, none.”
Dylan made a couple of keystrokes and followed the thread of familial relationships. “Elaine Young, various misdemeanor charges but looks like she’s stayed out of trouble for the last few years.”
“That’s the one. There’s a brother. But he’s currently doing felony time.”
“What about Nicole Harper? Visitors?”
“Her high society friends haven’t stepped foot in the jail. She’s had some crazies signing up to visit, given the sensational nature of the senator’s death and the media feeding frenzy over the black magic, but they’ve been a no-go. The only two people she’s spoken to are her lawyer, Helene Lindley, and her personal assistant, Camille Cunningham.”
“You talk to them?”
“I did indeed. The lawyer’s last visit was three days ago. Says Nicole didn’t express any concern for her safety or talk about any conflict she might be having with another inmate. The personal assistant visited at the very beginning of Harper’s stay, claimed it was just to wrap employment issues up. She said there hadn’t been any contact since.”
“You know who stands to inherit?”
“Nope. Lindley claims she doesn’t know. Said she was defense only, but thought Wasserman and Jance where handling estate matters.”
That seemed to cover it. “Thanks, Hale.”
“No problemo. See you at the poker table.”
<
br /> Dylan pocketed his phone. Trace said, “You game for a little ride over to the sister’s place?”
“Let’s do it.”
“I’ll drive.” Trace suppressed a smile as they left the bullpen and went to the car.
It seemed to him the timing couldn’t be better for getting Seraphine’s perspective on whether or not another witch, or a victim, might have arranged for a hit on Nicole Harper. And it just so happened he knew exactly where Seraphine was at the moment, thanks to Aislinn.
He pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward Inner Magick, replaying Brady’s call for an intervention. Probably a good thing he hadn’t mentioned this detour to the others.
Even Seraphine didn’t know this little chance encounter was about to happen. But it had been too good an opportunity to pass up, a kind of dry run for a surprise get-together at Lily’s Place that was in the works.
Hell, maybe they wouldn’t even need the setup at the bar, though he’d enjoy doing to Dylan what had been done to him that day Aislinn walked in to Lily’s with Storm and his life was forever changed. Maybe Dylan and Seraphine would ignite on contact today.
He laughed out loud, catching the snap of Dylan’s head out of the corner of his eye. He felt his partner’s attention zero in on him.
Jesus, and he’d been afraid Storm and Brady would blow things. “Just thinking about having a spontaneous orgasm,” he said. “I want to swing by Inner Magick on the way to Young’s place.”
“Pathetic.”
“What can I say? I’m a newlywed.” He’d had Aislinn standing in front of a justice of the peace before the ink had dried clearing him for return to duty, after discharging his weapon and at the same time saving Aislinn’s life.
Now to find a reason to get Dylan into Inner Magick. Telling him Aislinn would be upset if he didn’t pop in to say hi wouldn’t cut it. Conner’s barbeque was only a few days ago and they’d all hung out together then.
It’d been a damn shame Seraphine had an out-of-town commitment and couldn’t make it back in time. That would have been prime entertainment. Though, Christ, Ianthe’s showing up had created some scorching-hot waves of lust.
