Stained

by Jessica McBrayer

  “I know, trouble,” she said.

  “Yesth.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  By the power of earth, air, fire, water, and spirit, protect me now. Protect me forever.

  Sé left the coffee shop with that cop tingle he got when he knew things weren’t what they were supposed to be. He wasn’t sure what he was missing. He knew he liked how Thorn’s jeans rode low on her hips and the way her sweater fit her body. She had all the right curves. Jet-black hair, an aquiline nose, high cheekbones and pouty lips that he found irresistible. He was having a hard time holding onto his professionalism on this case. His would think it a perfect match. Irish, beautiful, and a cailleach. He shook his head and reached for his jacket. Stepping into the cool air cleared his mind some. If it wasn’t only for the fact that she was a suspect in a multiple homicide. He laughed. Just a minor thing.

  He headed towards his police issue sedan. Nondescript, beige, needed a tune-up and several years old. The door squeaked when he opened it. It still smelled like smoke from the last guy who had it, even though there was a no smoking policy in the department. He kept the car clean. That’s about the only thing he could say for it. The radio squawked and he turned it down as he made his way towards the station.

  He kept his head down as he went into the situation room and went up to the board to see if anything new had been posted on the murders. Scettico was eating a sandwich while going over the coroner’s report on the second vic.

  “Anything interesting?” he asked.

  “Yeah, here see for yourself,” Scettico said, through a mouthful of egg salad.

  Sé gave the man with a shaved head, and no neck, a sideways glance as he took the coroner’s report. Cause of death, decapitation, no big surprise, there. Metal tracings in the wound sites consistent with the metal found in Japanese swords. Wound was a clean cut.

  Then things got interesting. The body was different. There was an anomaly with the blood. The blood appeared thick and fit no blood type. The heart appeared to be that of someone who’d had a coronary failure many years ago. In other words, the forensic scientist working the case said the heart was consistent with someone who had died long before that night. The heart was shriveled and hard and couldn’t circulate blood. He scrawled a personal note saying he had never seen anything like it.

  Huh, what the fuck, Sé thought. “Do we have any living pictures of the vic?” he asked Scettico.

  “Yeah, we got lucky, an ATM picture taken at two-fifty a.m. Just before he went to Stained.”

  “Send it over to the coroner. See if he believes that.”

  “Will do.”

  Sé went back to the file on Thorn. Born in Ireland, in Kilkeel, age thirty-one. Owned a Ducati, black, new. He still preferred his Yamaha R1. Mother Irish, Father American, both deceased. A great uncle, her only living relative, on record. Held dual citizenship between Ireland and the US and was current with all her professional certificates. Owned and operated the establishment Stained, a tattoo parlor. Her passport had stamps from all around the world. When she’d said she traveled, she was modest. Never married. No known siblings. Financial holdings, sketchy. Stained must be very successful, she owned a large house and land in Ireland.

  She was somewhat of an enigma—even though he had all the resources at his fingertips he knew very little about her. She had no friends. No associations with people, beyond her work. She was a loner. Much like himself. He liked her, but he held back in spite of it. His gut told him she wasn’t the killer. The witches he’d known didn’t kill, but he knew they could. But she had no alibis, and she was the only one who knew what the talismans that had been removed were.

  “I’m going to hit the streets,” he said.

  “Sure, talk to you later,” Scettico said. “Oh, hey, Kate called and asked if you wanted help with the case.”

  Sé grimaced. Great. Just what he needed, his ex involved in the case. Special Agent Kate Simms of the FBI--blonde, beautiful, and ambitious. They had ended it after a brief romance following a case they worked together. Sé just wasn’t into her. She was aggressive and self-absorbed. She continued to call him from time to time. This was just the excuse she was looking for to spend time with him. She would be on Thorn like a shark in blood-scented water, whether the evidence fit or not. She’d be jealous and hot on the jump, on what little leads they had. She played the game to win no matter the cost, with no regard for the rules.

  Sé headed back out to his car, letting it idle a minute, the exhaust building and making his eyes water, trying to decide where to go first. When in doubt, go back to the crime scenes. He drove the short distance to the construction site, off Shattuck, where victim number two was found. The site was so close to the police station it was almost like the killer was mocking them, or sending them a message. He grabbed his Mag light from the glove compartment and turned it on, making his way through the security fence and the rubble-strewn ground to the yellow police tape. He always steeled himself when crossing the police tape. He took his job seriously and knew that tape marked the boundary between life and death. He crouched down and flashed his light, searching through the debris, not really expecting to find anything more, but hoping to jostle something loose in his mind.

  What was going through the killer’s head? Why kill here, unless he was desperate? It was mostly commercial in this area. Apartments facing the street and businesses, but quiet at that time in the morning. If he had snuck up on the vic he could have done the job quickly and quietly. The coroner thought that a sword or something similar was used. How the hell do you hide a sword on the street? Who used a sword to kill? It would do the job but it tended to be very messy. Full blood spatters covered the ground and the wall of the adjoining building, so the victim was killed here. Maybe chased here? Too many questions. He rubbed his hands across his day’s worth of stubble and yawned. They wouldn’t get much sleep as long as bodies kept showing up.

  His eyes glanced to the side and something struck him as out of the ordinary. A pile of rocks, too orderly to be random. He crossed the few feet to get a closer look. The rocks held a long, dark shiny feather in place. Sé would bet anything it was a raven’s feather. Fuck! What did it mean? Did Thorn come back and put it here as a signature? Or did the killer put it here as a warning? Had he talked to a murderer today or not?

  Sé took a minute to let the breeze wash over him as he thought. Soon his hands and face grew numb from the cold air. He wasn’t any closer to a decision about whether he should turn this evidence in or not. He knew what would happen if he did. They’d quit looking and he couldn’t ignore his hunch that there was more to this than a beautiful, lone witch. He’d rather sit on things a bit. He pulled a glove on, picked up the feather, placed it in an evidence bag and put it in his pocket.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Elements of the sun, elements of the day, come this way. I summon thee. I call upon thee to protect me.

  He picked his way back to his car, keeping his light on so he wouldn’t fall on the sharp concrete pieces, like shards of glass, waiting to cut up an unobservant bystander. Sé took a right on Cedar to Euclid Avenue and wound his way up to Grizzly Peak. Driving to the next crime scene where the first body was found, in Tilden Park. As he climbed the switchback hills he thought about Willow Sanchez. Aged 37, lived in Berkeley, a Wiccan according to Thorn. Their files had Willow working as a financial holdings administrator at a bank in San Francisco. She had a live-in girlfriend and no next of kin.

  Willow could have been performing some kind of ceremony up here. Many of the witches came here for that. The thick cover of nature called to them. It would have been easy to sneak up on her that way.

  He pulled over onto a cutaway and got out of his car. A raccoon shuffled across the road, glaring, puffed up so he was as large as possible. The trees were thick and stretched their branches, like fingertips, to reach the slightest bit of sunlight. Tilden Park was home to everything from wild turkeys to wild cats. The air smelled fresher up here high a
bove the city, Sé thought. He took a moment to look down at the bay and the spectacular view. In the early morning light he could see across to San Francisco. He thought about the requirements of his job—he was a human Geiger counter. Humanity was a dichotomy, constantly balancing between beauty and evil. He knew he couldn’t fix everything and had tried to make peace with it. He knew that the fragile nature of man meant job security.

  It was early. The sky started to tint pink and orange against the hills. In the growing light, he made the short hike to the crime scene. He crossed more police tape. This time he was surprised to see that someone had tampered with the site. An altar covered with a white cloth, stones, black feathers, a bowl of water, and a candle was set up. He had caught someone in the act of something. There was fresh blood splashed across the ground.

  Looking around, Sé drew his gun. He remembered the bloated corpse, green-tinged, without its head. The slice would have had to have been quick, to decapitate so cleanly. They had been lucky to realize that part of the tattoo was missing. Sé was still investigating the altar when the hair stood up on the back of his neck. He turned and felt a heavy blow to his head. Then nothing else.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Oh Gods and Goddesses in the light above, send me your protection with words of love. Lend me your power to use for good, in protecting myself, and the ones I love. As I will so mote it be, with no harm come back to me…

  Thorn and Raven rose with the stars, and she shuffled into the shower. When she was dressed in a mini-dress with a zombie on the front, leather choker, and Mary Jane’s, she went into the living room to change Raven’s water dish.

  “Who’s a pretty bird?”

  “Aren’t I supposed to say that?” she asked Raven.

  “Dressing for Mr. Trouble are we, my witchling?”

  “No, I’m not. He probably likes nice dresses and heels.”

  “Don’t count on it.”

  “Come on, let’s go downstairs. I’ll tell you who Mr. Trouble is,” she mumbled under her breath.

  “Heard that,” Raven cawed. Thorn laughed.

  Michael and Isaiah were working tonight. They filled in for the girls when they needed a night off. Michael was a student at the Academy of Art Institute in San Francisco with an eclectic way of dressing. He was a good pair with Isaiah who had been inking for twenty years. The girls and Gérard were taking some much-needed time off. Jason was up front enjoying a coffee. He eyed Thorn appreciatively. Thorn was starting to get uncomfortable with Jason’s subtle new behavior. First the unsolicited picture-taking and now the way he looked at her. An excellent artist, he would be an asset to the shop, but he was beginning to unnerve her.

  Sunday night, and the shop was relatively quiet. A few people milled around, and her first customer hadn’t arrived yet.

  “Love the dress,” Jason smirked, like he knew something she didn’t. Thorn didn’t have time for this crap.

  “Thanks,” Thorn said shortly. Turning to the others, she said, “Raven thinks I’m putting on a show.”

  “Silly bird,” Isaiah said.

  “Silly people,” Raven cawed. Everyone laughed uneasily. Thorn had to remind the bird to keep his intelligence to himself, except around her, but he was proud and she was sure he had been insulted at being called silly. Proud bird. Isaiah soon forgot his uneasiness and went back to his work, his dreads back tied back in a scrunchie to keep it out of his eyes. He had on one of his famous band tees. He must have been to every concert in the Bay Area in the last twenty years.

  “How did the day crew do?” Thorn asked Jason.

  “Fab as always. The money and receipts are in the safe.”

  “Great, I have to deliver it to my accountant tomorrow. How are your classes coming along?” she asked him, trying to keep things on a professional basis.

  “Really well, I think by the end of the year I’ll be set to intern.”

  “We’ll be ready for you when you’re ready for that.”

  She looked up as soon as she recognized Sé’s scent, mint and sandalwood. Tonight, though, he wore jeans and a torso-hugging tee shirt under a leather jacket. She noticed a bike parked in front of the store.

  “We have to stop meeting like this, Sé,” she said, a bit more seductively than she intended to. Where did that come from? A slow smile made the laugh lines crinkle around his eyes.

  “I’ve come to ask a favor,” he said.

  “Sure, if it’s in my power.” Both of them understood what she meant.

  “I’d like to make an appointment to get a tattoo and I’d like you to do it. I know you’re booked up. I hoped maybe you’d have a cancellation?”

  “Can you come back at midnight? We close then and I’ll have time.”

  “Great,” he said. Thanks for squeezing me in.”

  “Not a problem,” Thorn said. Her staff stared, then quickly went back to their jobs when Sé left. Thorn had never taken on a client the same night. Her next customer had arrived while she was talking to Sé, so she got her seated and started the ritual of preparing her instruments. The woman wanted a memorial tattoo for her daughter who had died of AIDS. Thorn inked a realistic picture of the woman’s daughter onto the woman’s upper arm with her daughter’s name underneath. The tattoo took three hours, and she only had one other customer that night before she closed.

  Sé was right on time. He browsed around the shop waiting for everyone to leave. Michael and Isaiah snuck looks at him. Sé acknowledged them and then ignored their stares. Jason just glared. What was that all about? Thorn was getting sick and tired of Jason’s attitude. She liked her privacy.

  When everyone finally left, she motioned for Sé to have a seat in her custom-made chair. The basic design was based on a barber’s chair. She could raise or lower it if she wanted, and the client could also sit in it facing forward or backward. It was covered in black leather to make sure that nothing would show on it.

  “How was your day?” she asked him, trying to set him at ease. He stood awkwardly and his muscles were tight, unusual for the confident detective.

  “I’ve had better. Someone snuck up behind me and knocked me out this morning. I was at one of the crime scenes. Took me two hours to wake up.” He laughed about it, but it was an uneasy laugh.

  “Oh Goddess, did you see a doctor? Do you have a concussion? Would you like me to work a healing spell over it?”

  “I haven’t had a healing spell since I was twelve and jumped out of my mamó’s tree.” He laughed again—this time his eyes lit up.

  “Let me see where you’re hurt.”

  Sé turned and pointed to the back of his head. Thorn motioned for him to sit down in her chair. She carefully moved his hair back until she saw an ugly lump.

  Without thinking she reached into herself and pulled energy out and enveloped Sé with it, focusing on the injury. She chanted briefly as she gently put her hand over the wound. She felt him wince. She poured more of her violet power into the healing and let it resonate in him. Soon she felt him relax, and the muscles in his shoulders lowered. She smiled. The healing was working. She pulled her energy back and regretted having to take her hands away from him.

  “Thanks, Thorn.” He reached up and touched the spot tenderly. “It feels much better.”

  “You’re welcome. What happened before you were knocked out?”

  “I was going to ask you about it. I came across someone’s altar. A candle was still burning. Stones, a bowl of water, and feathers. Fresh blood covered a white altar cloth.” He shrugged. “While I was looking around I felt like I was being watched and started to turn around but got knocked out instead. Might have saved my life because it wasn’t a solid hit.”

  “What happened when you came to?”

  “Everything was gone except for some of the feathers and the blood stains. I took some pictures and filed a report.”

  “Do you think it’s related to the murder?”

  Sé shrugged again. “I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me.” />
  “Not sure,” she said. “But I think what you’re describing is a voodoo altar. A death scene would be a powerful place to put one and do a spell. It sounds like you got there just at the end of it. The blood was most likely from a sacrifice. Probably chicken from the sounds of it.”

  “Just what we need, voodoo mixed in with all of this. Do you think that’s our killer?”

  “No, black voodoo priests or priestesses would have used Willow and Richard as sacrifices in a spell and would have done it more privately.” She turned back from her preparations and looked him in the eye. “They would have killed you outright today, too. I think they just didn’t want you knowing who they were.”

  “Well, they got their wish. I feel like an idiot.”

  “Don’t, voodoo can be a nasty practice if it’s using death energy. It can be benign. But this doesn’t sound that way. You were lucky to get out of there in one piece.”

  “I didn’t come to here to lay this on your doorstep,” Sé said sheepishly.

  “What kind of ink do you want?” she asked him, smiling. Sé looked relieved to shift the focus off his incident and back onto his tattoo.

  “I’ve already got a raven on my shoulder blade, but I was thinking of something Celtic with a talisman in it,” he said.

  “So you’re not a virgin?” She smirked at him. She weighed the risk. Two of her clients, with talismans, had been killed recently. But Sé didn’t work magick. “Take your shirt off. Let’s see your other work.”

  He grinned and obliged her. She recognized the artist. The raven was done nicely in black and grey scale. Very realistic, and sharp. Her pulse raced as she surveyed his fine body, sculpted, strong, and muscled. He had a small dimpled scar on the opposite shoulder from his tattoo. A bullet hole. He’d seen some action. She touched it lightly and he shivered but didn’t say anything. Her skin felt hot where it had touched him and the rest of her body was heating up in response.