The Divine Roses (Jake & Dean Investigations Book 3)

by Richard Amos

Guilt stung me as it always did. This was on me. If anything happened, it was because I’d fucked up. What if she’d killed Louise and Jake? What if she’d burned the house down, kidnapped them?

  I tensed, hands gripping the edge of the sofa cushion, chest constricting.

  Guilt was my worst enemy. I was getting better, really trying to keep the awful images of my dead family that haunted me sometimes at bay. They weren’t as frequent now, but this had been a trigger.

  I kept my eyes open, stared straight ahead, watching the wall, listening to the movie and my daughter’s random commentary.

  “But the crystal’s not in there!” she yelled.

  Her favorite fantasy film about witches and a lost magical crystal.

  Breathe. It’s okay. They’re here with you. Safe.

  I did breathe. Slow and deep, never closing my eyes. Doing that would let the images run wild.

  “Okay, you two!” Jake called. “Come and get it!”

  “Yay!” Louise cheered and sprang off the sofa. “Come on, Papa!”

  I let the sofa go, let my muscles relax. I’d done it. No images from that extreme form of my OCD had crept in. I was on my feet, heading for the kitchen to eat with my family.

  My family.

  Mine.

  Safe in my home. Better wards up, the wet world locked outside. This was our haven, and no one would ever get inside again. That had been the rule, and it’d been relaxed for Dad and Orla.

  There was no room for relaxation now.

  Never again.

  “It smells so good, Daddy,” Louise declared.

  Macaroni and cheese was her favorite.

  “You’re a right charmer, just like Papa.”

  “That’s me,” she said. “Charm, charm, charm.”

  I sat next to her. “Nice and cheesy.”

  “You’re the best, Daddy,” Louise told Jake as he placed a bowl of salad onto the table.

  “Sorry, but I have to do this.” He ruffled her hair, and she shrieked in protest. “You’re just too darn cute.”

  She wrinkled her nose and waited as I cut into the food, serving her the gooey, cheesy wonder.

  “Yum,” she said.

  Louise had a great appetite which included her greens. Not broccoli, but most vegetables went down well with her.

  Jake sat down on the other side of her. “Right. Let’s stuff ourselves silly.”

  Seventeen

  Dylan Rivers

  A rather lovely, relaxing evening was brought to an abrupt ending when Pranay roared.

  I sprung out of the bathtub, leaping across the bathroom and practically tearing the door off its hinges.

  A man was standing in the center of the room, surrounded by my men, who were waiting to tear him apart.

  “Parker,” I said, naked, dripping on the carpet, not caring in the least. “At last, we meet.”

  His eyes roamed over my wet body. “How interesting.”

  “My penis or my scales?”

  “The latter. I have never seen a siren in the flesh before.”

  “Interesting.” My eyes flicked to each of my men, all poised for battle. The television was on silent in the corner of the hotel suite’s living room.

  Parker Smith wasn’t leaving this place alive.

  “It seems you are a serial killer.” I strode over to armchair closest to me, sat, and crossed my legs. There was a bowl of fruit on a table beside me. I helped myself to a strawberry. “A killer who likes to paint roses.”

  He smiled as my men moved to fan around me. “Do you believe everything you read in the newspaper?”

  “Honey, I haven’t touched a newspaper in years.”

  “I’d think someone like you would have your nose constantly buried in the pages to see what they were saying about you.”

  I popped the strawberry in my mouth, chewed slowly, made him wait. “I’ve moved on.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “What can I do for you?” I asked.

  “Unless you want to try the chocolate again, nothing. I just wanted to see your face.”

  “You haven’t seen it before?”

  “Not this close.” He cast his eyes around the room. “Swanky.”

  It was. Terracotta walls, plush champagne carpet, two bathrooms, two living rooms, three bedrooms with wonderfully large beds—it was slightly over the top, but a wonderfully welcoming hotel with a wonderful restaurant downstairs.

  “All you wanted was to see me up close?”

  “You can see my fist up close,” Pranay added. The werewolf was fit to shift and spill intestines.

  “And my boots,” Andy added, his hands glowing with pink fae magic.

  Seph rattled his kelpie chains in solidarity.

  Parker laughed at that. “I didn’t come to fight, only warn.”

  I straightened. “Warn?”

  “Yes. A friendly warning to leave the city.”

  “Oh, but you’re wrong to say that, Parker. You see, you’re the reason we’re here. You tried to poison me, us, with those pod-laced chocolates. For me, that’s a declaration of war.”

  “War is a strong word, Dylan.”

  “It is. A strong action, too.”

  His smile was fading. “If you get in my way, I’ll destroy you.”

  I stood. “Get in your way? What? Have we thrown a spanner in the works? How? Do tell. Oh, go on. Please! Spill.”

  The smile was back. “Make sure you’re gone before the end of the week if you don’t want to suffer.”

  Now it was my turn to laugh. “Please do talk to me about suffering. I know nothing about it.”

  “You’ve been warned. All of you. There is no reason for you to be here, for us to be in touch again.”

  “I see.”

  “I’m done with you. There’s someone else I want.”

  “Would that happen to be Jake Winter?”

  His lips twitched. “I saw you went to see him. Did he tell you about the letter I sent him?”

  “Another indication of your monstrous nature,” I retorted. “You and the other one who shares your face.”

  His grin was devilish—in the wrong way. “Which of us is worse?”

  “I wouldn’t want to choose.”

  “Then I gather we’re done?”

  “Done with what?”

  “With everything. I’ll let the warning sink in.”

  Here we were at last. “Oh, Parker. You really don’t know me at all.”

  My siren song rose up in golden threads swirling around my body, the tune bouncing off the walls in melodious booms. I’d snag him and sing him to his death.

  Seph let his chains fly, Andy and Pranay springing to action. They met air, crashing into one another.

  “What the fuck!” Pranay roared.

  “He’s gone,” Andy said softy.

  Pranay rushed to the door, sticking his head out. “Not here.”

  He wasn’t running down the street either when Andy went to look out of the window.

  He’d just vanished into thin air. Jake had warned us about this irritating habit.

  At that moment, the television caught my attention.

  Breaking news.

  I grabbed the remote and hit the volume button.

  “Now isn’t this interesting?”

  Words rolling across the bottom of the screen and coming out of the newsreader’s mouth.

  Elijah Hart had been arrested.

  Eighteen

  Dean

  After dinner, I was starting to feel better. Good food and the company of my family did that. As Jake washed up the dishes and Louise dove into the fantasy movie’s sequel, I headed up to the study to carry on with some more research.

  There was a thread I’d picked up on last night about a massacre in the Faerie lands of Winter many, many years ago. It was a passing reference in a wider piece about the power of the winter lands, how the royal seat had once proposed to move from Autumn City to Winter City. The thing that’d caught my eye was the mention o
f the ‘two who hated enough to bring the smoke’ at the end of the short paragraph.

  The eastern part of the city had been burned, so many fae killed, and there was nothing else about it in the heavy tome. I went online via the Paranormal Eyes VPN, accessing the notoriously glitchy Fae Findings website. Other than books, it was the only way of hunting down fae-related information. There were many records uploaded. Grainy images, damaged documents, often badly written with smudged ink—like the worst kind case of bad microfiche.

  After an hour of searching, I found something. A poor image of the Winter city, but definitely what I wanted.

  The picture showed the eastern side on fire, and there was text below it. More than a paragraph this time, written in Gaelic. The quality was awful, and it took me another half an hour to get the quality up to reading standard.

  I really needed to read it. When I had a hunch, it wasn’t just a passing fancy.

  “Wow,” I said.

  The study door opened. “How’s it going?” Jake asked softly.

  “Think I’ve found something.”

  He came deeper into the room. “What is it?”

  “Is Louise still movie bingeing?”

  “She’s on number three now.”

  That fantasy series was seven movies long.

  “Told her that’s the last one for the night. I swear, I wanna strangle that friggin’ unicorn.”

  “Same.”

  He stood behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “What’ve you found?”

  “See this?” I tapped the screen. “This is a story about two brothers who hated each other.”

  “Go on.”

  I took a swig of my lukewarm tea.

  “Do you want a fresh one of those?” he asked.

  “Yes, please. But after I tell you this.”

  “No worries. Tell me the story.”

  So I did. “Once upon a time, as it goes, there were two brothers going by the names of Oisin and Ronan Rós—twins. Rós is the Gaelic word for rose.”

  “What the crap?”

  “There’s more. So, these brothers were the best of friends until a girl came into their lives. Her name was Aoife, no surname I can see. She was dating them both at the same time. It wasn’t a secret, but the two of them started to resent one another, everything boiling over when she became pregnant.”

  “That’d do it.”

  I nodded. “They both claimed to be the father, of course, but there’s nothing about which one actually was. Their hate was so strong that they attacked each other with their magic, with weapons. Two powerful guys according to this. The birth of their daughter didn’t stop them. She was only a day old when the brothers went to war. So many people got themselves caught in the crossfire, and the entire eastern district of the city was wiped out. Along with Aoife. Oisin and Ronan were sentenced to never die, to be locked away together forever in the fae prison. Apparently, the authorities were too afraid to kill them outright because of how strong their magic was. After it was done, their daughter, nameless, vanished. Presumed dead in the fire, but her remains never found. This was three hundred years ago.”

  “Blimey.”

  “Yes.” I sat back in the chair, and Jake gave me a neck rub.

  “Parker and Elijah.”

  “Can only be them. Explains the fae magic on the pod roses, but not anything about their motives. Also, doesn’t tell us who let them out.”

  “Maybe they let themselves out. Didn’t that guard say there was trickery in the prison?”

  “She did,” I replied. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they figured out how to do it.”

  “Now, we need to figure out how to destroy it.” Jake took his hands away. “There’s got to be a way. Maybe we could ask Dylan Rivers about it. He has that fae guy with him.”

  “We should do that.” My phone started to buzz. “It’s Lars. Hallo?”

  “Dean! Have you got the news on?” The policeman sounded flustered.

  “No. Why?”

  “We’ve just arrested Elijah Hart.”

  Elijah Hart.

  Paradigm of morality. Head of the Conclave.

  Arsehole.

  Fae.

  Twin to Parker Smith.

  The Rós brothers.

  He’d been discovered singing in a red window. A passerby had heard him, not seeing him at first seeing as a curtain was drawn across the window due to the temporary closure. The police arrived quickly.

  Behind the curtain were two dead women, bringing the total to seventeen, and a naked Elijah singing between them.

  The news spread like wildfire.

  Two hours after the arrest, we were sat in our kitchen with a laptop, linked into an interview room at the heavily guarded (by the council army) police station. The feed was granted to us to watch because of our unwanted affiliation with this scumbag.

  He was being interviewed by Lars and Ana—a pale, blonde councilwoman Jake and I knew. There was some paperwork on the table, no lawyer present. There were five council soldiers with their wands ready to blast, and two police officers with guns trained on him.

  “Interview of one Mr. Elijah Hart,” Lars said. “The time is 21:06. Mr. Hart has waived his right to legal representation.”

  We had a bird’s eye view of the blue and gray room. Elijah was dressed in gray sweats, staring straight ahead, cold as ice. Nothing on his face indicated a shred of emotion. The clear difference between the two brothers was always in their demeanors. Parker was perky, Elijah a much colder man.

  “Mr. Hart,” Ana began, “would you care to explain what happened? Why you were found naked with the two dead victims?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Could you also explain why your fingerprints were found on their bodies, specifically on their necks?”

  Still no answer.

  The Conclave had gone silent, underground—which was alarming. What were they up to? Why weren’t they striking back for their leader?

  “Do you have a brother, Mr. Hart? A brother by the name of Parker Smith? Has he been helping you kill these women?”

  His lips were sealed.

  Lars took a turn at questioning. “Is Parker Smith your brother? Is that his real name? Is your name really Elijah Hart?”

  I’d emailed Lars over what I’d found about the fae twins—Oisin and Ronan.

  “Is there anything you have to say?” Lars added.

  Back to Ana. “The evidence is stacked against you. We have received information of your name. Are you Oisin or Ronan Rós?”

  The bastard didn’t even blink, but he did speak. “That is none of your business.”

  “On the contrary. I think you’ll find it is our business, as it is the business of—”

  “Spare me the lecture, soldier. You cannot hold me. I serve a higher purpose and answer only to a greater power.”

  “And who would that be, Mr. Hart?” Ana questioned.

  Still no physical reaction. Only his lips were moving. “If you have to ask, you are corrupt with sin.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes.”

  “And is that why you killed those women?”

  Elijah’s eyes moved, locking to Ana. “It would be that easy, wouldn’t it? For me to tell you everything, to cut a vein and bleed my sins. You are hungry for confession, for an admission of guilt.”

  Ana was unflappable. “The evidence practically screams your guilt, but please carry on.”

  He was so unbothered, so cold. “I am without sin. I have been touched by His hand. I am the guiding light. The Conclave is the way to peace, to a better life.”

  “What does that have to do with murdering those women?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You were found inside that window, naked. Your fingerprints are all over their bodies. Come on, Mr. Hart. Why not make this easy on yourself? On everyone? You killed them, and your brother’s been helping you. They’re his fingerprints on the other victims, right?”

  No answer.


  “You hate each other. We know the story. You hate each other, doomed to spend eternity in that woodland prison. I get you’d be mad if you ever broke out.” A pause. “Did you both break out? Were you released by someone else?”

  Nothing.

  “This is the end for you now. There’s no way out.”

  The doorbell went.

  “Who the hell is that?” Jake said, and got up.

  I followed him, waiting at the kitchen door, pausing to keep one eye on the screen, the other on him as he went to look through the peephole.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  “What?”

  “Dylan Rivers is at the door. And his crew.

  “What?”

  “You heard me right.” He opened the door.

  “Hello again, Jake. How are you? Heard the news?”

  “Erm, hi. Yes. Erm…”

  “May we come in?”

  I dashed over.

  It really was him, standing under an umbrella with three men behind him, also under umbrellas.

  Dylan Rivers beamed at me. “And you must be Dean. A pleasure to meet you. These are my companions Andy, Pranay, and Seph.”

  “Hello.”

  The street was empty. No cameras, no paparazzi. The rain pounded those umbrellas, bounced off the stoop’s steps.

  “Well?” Dylan said. “Are you going to take us in out of this rain?”

  I was too starstruck to speak.

  “Erm…” Jake managed. He should’ve been cool now, seeing as he’d met him before.

  Dylan pursed his lips.

  “We would’ve been here earlier,” Andy, the fae guy with the red-gold hair interjected, “only we had to shake the paparazzi, take a long detour around the city, so we didn’t lead anyone here.”

  The popstar nodded in agreement.

  That seemed to jolt Jake into action. “Then you’d better get in here before the arseholes come calling.”

  Dylan grinned. “Wonderful. Thank you so much.” He put down his umbrella and strode past me into the hallway. “What a lovely house. I love the location.”

  “Thank you,” I replied. “Can I take your coat?”

  “That’d be great.” He shrugged off the navy, almost-floor-length coat. “Horrible night out there.”