Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Colleen Gleason

  The events of the last few months proved the point. The minute I’d registered with the Psyconic Division before taking the coroner’s post, my longtime boyfriend, Brad, started to complain. He'd been accepting of my status as a witch when I kept it under wraps, but the moment I listed my magic as a job skill for the coroner’s office, he had issues.

  It’s not that Brad was a bad guy. He was worried about his job at the sheriff’s office. After a few months of trying to deal with his paranoia, I’d called it quits. That relationship was just another victim of my gifts.

  If my own boyfriend had trouble with me being a witch, then I was sure the town had similar issues. I needed to be careful of how the town saw me, and the more-public coroner’s job was supposed to help my image. I could deal with the breakup, but I couldn't lose the funeral home.

  I caught the flashing lights of the sheriff’s cruiser, and I pulled over. “Why don’t you and Zoe take my car back to the club? It might be hours, and there’s no need for you to wait for me. I’ll catch a ride to the funeral home with the transportation guys and spend the night there.”

  Charlie looked back to Zoe, and they seemed to have a silent conversation. “We’re just going to head home. The club was supposed to help you decompress. You need it, Liv.”

  “Next week,” I said, knowing I’d probably have to cancel then too. Charlie gave me a placating nod and sighed, letting me know she wasn't buying it either. I turned off the car and handed over the keys. “I appreciate the effort, but I’m a big girl. He’s not the first boyfriend I’ve lost. I’m doing fine.”

  Charlie laughed. “I don’t think you know what fine looks like.” She shook her head. "You’re wound so tight, the air around you vibrates. You need to let loose.”

  Without responding, I snatched my kit out of the back and got out of the car. The warm July night hit me with a blast of sticky, humid air. My heel sank into the soft, damp earth; I cursed. There wasn’t a chance in hell I’d be able to work in those heels, so I moved to the rear of the SUV, hoping to find my running shoes. I added “lack of proper attire” to the long list of things pissing me off tonight. After a futile search, I realized I was just going to have to make do with the snow boots left there from last winter.

  I made my way down to the shore, still bristling from Charlie’s comments, when a pair of strong hands grabbed my arm and spun me around. I let out a yelp, and was about to scream when I recognized the voice. Its owner was exactly the last man I wanted to see.

  "Damn, girl. Is that your new uniform?" Officer Brad Richardson whispered against my ear. “Remind me to send Ian a thank-you card.”

  "Brad, let me go,” I said, gritting my teeth.

  He breathed an exaggerated sigh but released his grip without argument. I stumbled a few steps forward and became acutely aware of the fact I was in my clubbing gear and clunky snow boots. I pulled at the hem of my too-short skirt and tried to ignore his roaming eyes. First thing I was going to do when I got home was put a change of clothes in the back of the car.

  “Don’t you ever do that again. You’re lucky I wasn’t carrying my pistol.” I took a few more steps back and waved my hand down the length of my body. “You don’t get to handle the goods anymore. We’re broken up. Remember?”

  I’d started to walk away when he called my name. “Olivia, wait. I’m sorry. I just thought…Well, we dated for so long…”

  Brad was tall and athletic, with short, dark hair and all-American wholesome looks. He was the embodiment of the corn-fed Indiana boy; girls flocked to him like flies to honey. He didn’t hear the word “no” often, and the last thing I wanted to do was encourage him. I was angry and humiliated at the way he’d treated me, and I wanted to make sure he knew exactly where we stood.

  “So what?” I snapped. “You thought I’d be okay just sleeping with you now that we weren’t dating? Well, you thought wrong.” Stomping away, I left him in the shadows.

  Down at the lake, the crime scene unit was waiting for me to arrive. They had placed large work lights in a semicircle, illuminating the edge of the lake like midday. I recognized Chris, one of the CSI techs, and walked over to her.

  “So what do we have here?” I said, trying to put on my professional face, but I was still on edge from the encounter with Brad. I was listening to the tech when the crunch of gravel behind me caught my ear. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Brad standing on the fringe of the scene, chatting with one of the body movers. When he caught me looking, he smiled and winked. I turned around, angry again, and refocused my attention on Chris.

  “…when he came back, he noticed the body floating in the reeds. He doesn’t remember seeing it earlier in the day when he went out, but that doesn’t surprise me. It looks as if she’s been in the lake for a few days. I’d bet the low water table caused by the drought was enough to cause her body to wash ashore.” She shook her head, sighing sadly. “There was no ID, so we’re going to need fingerprints when you process the body.”

  “I can handle that.” I headed over to the white sheet. Bodies that have spent any time in the water are rarely pretty, so I braced myself.

  It was a young girl, maybe fourteen or fifteen. The body was bloated and an unnatural blue-green. The skin was loose and fragile, and automatically I started thinking about what I would need to do with makeup and chemicals to make her look like the beautiful young girl she had been. Working with kids was always the hardest. As a funeral director, it was my job to imagine what my clients had been like when they were still alive. When I looked at this girl, all I saw was the life she’d never get to live. But that’s not why I was here; today my job was to find answers. I went back over the things Ian had told me to do.

  I checked the body for any obvious signs of trauma. She wasn’t dressed for swimming, instead wearing a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt. I noticed her shoes were missing. She could have been barefoot, but it was equally possible they had fallen off while her body was in the water. On closer inspection, I noticed ragged abrasions on both her wrists and ankles. They would have been easy to miss, camouflaged by the other scrapes and cuts commonly found on people pulled from the lake. But the pattern was too uniform; I recognized the signs of restraints right away. It was my first clue that I was dealing with something more sinister than a boating accident.

  I opened my bag, pulled out the camera, and snapped a few photographs for my report, paying close attention to the discoloration around the ankles. When I finished, I set the camera down and knelt beside the girl. It was time to find out what happened. This was why I’d become a registered witch: so I could find the truth.

  I slipped off my rings, the only jewelry I wore: a gold wedding ring and a simple silver band. The wedding ring had been my mom's and was purely sentimental. The silver one, on the other hand, served as a shield charm. I’d crafted it to block the unwelcome onslaught of feelings I received from the people around me.

  Not everyone could use magic. You had to be born with the gift. Even then, it took skill and education to develop the craft, but there were a few like me, born with innate gifts. I was an empath. Having a natural gift might seem like an advantage, but it wasn’t easy to control. My empathy had made it almost impossible to be around other people when I was growing up, but my shield charm changed all that. I never went anywhere without it.

  I dropped the rings into my pocket and pulled out a Sharpie. With a steady hand, I traced a spell glyph on each palm to complete my examination. As I awkwardly finished the glyph on my right hand, I thought again about getting the spell inked into a tattoo. It would certainly make this job a lot easier.

  I placed my hands palm down and channeled power through the glyphs. Images flashed behind my closed eyes, showing me right away she hadn’t drowned. There weren’t any of the hallmarks of drowning. The heart wasn't enlarged. No algae in the lungs. There wasn’t even foam in the airway. The only real finding was mild dehydration and malnutrition. And the minor abrasions on her arms and legs. I kept searching, looking
for anything I might have missed. None of the minor ailments the spell revealed would have caused her death.

  I opened my eyes and checked the body again. Even if the cause had been a drug or suffocation, the paean spell I used would have indicated it. It’s almost as if she just died—no cause, just stopped living. I pulled out a wet wipe and scrubbed at the glyph. When I looked up, Brad was glaring at me, a crease in his forehead marring his boyish face. He was like many plebs—the non-magical—afraid of the things he didn't understand, and the disapproval written across his face reignited my irritation. Yes, I think it’s time to get more ink, I thought, shooting him a sweet smile.

  When I’d gotten my first tattoo Brad had nearly had a stroke, assuming I’d end up with a dozen more. It was easy to pick witches out of a crowd these days. The piercings and tattoos seemed to be our modern-day equivalent of pointy hats and cast-iron cauldrons. But they weren’t just decorative. The tattoos served as a shortcut: a permanent way to keep common spells ready at a moment’s notice. Even so, I’d always avoided a lot of ink because of my job. The lotus tattoo on my back was the one exception. I never regretted letting Charlie talk me into it. The spell hidden in the delicate petals of the lotus flower was a focus that helped me gain some control over my temperamental powers.

  The written glyph wasn’t going to cut it this time. To make my determination, I would need to do a reading. I looked up to see if Brad was still watching. He was facing the other direction now, and had become engaged in an animated conversation with the crime scene crew. Confident no one would see what I was about to do, I slipped off one of my gloves. Touching without gloves was against procedure, but if I touched her, I might be able to pick up something with my empathic skills.

  I laid my bare hand on her shoulder and closed my eyes, letting the visions wash over me. Snapshots from her life flew past me in a kaleidoscope of faded images, but something else pushed itself in. An overwhelming presence invaded my mind, like a physical pressure in the back of my skull, foul and thick. I wanted to yank away my hand, but I knew it was just residual: leftovers from the aura, the soul of a girl who was already gone. I shut out the darkness and focused on the images, trying to locate the moment of her death.

  Arms tied with plastic zip-ties. A dirty rug with large red flowers. Three flat stones being placed on her chest. Large hands pressing her down.

  The images stopped abruptly, and a hollow feeling settled deep in my chest. The reading left me more confused. I was no closer to having a cause of death. I was sure of only one thing: she hadn’t been in the lake when she died.

  I took off my other glove and covered her back up. Chris joined me as I finished packing up my bag.

  “What’s the verdict? Drowning?"

  “I couldn’t determine the exact cause of death,” I said.

  I felt like I’d failed in more ways than one, and I couldn’t face her. I turned to the lake and stared over the dark expanse. The moon was still low in the sky, the reflection rippling off the surface, turning the lake I grew up on into the backdrop of some grisly slasher flick. I let out a deep breath and collected my thoughts.

  “She didn't drown; she was dead before she entered the water. And there are signs she was being held against her will. So, I’m going to rule it a homicide, but that means I’ll need to send the body up to the medical center for autopsy before an official report can be filed.”

  It was a stupid law. They wouldn’t find anything I didn’t already know, but because I wasn't a medical examiner I couldn't certify a homicide. Other states had passed legislation changing that rule, allowing a witch's examination to take the place of an autopsy, but I wasn’t holding my breath Indiana would follow suit. They still worked under the archaic coroner’s system, so why would they change something as major as that?

  Chris's brow creased as she looked around the scene, taking it in with a new eye. The mood between us shifted, and she was suddenly all business. “I’ll be sure to have the team collect everything on the beach. And I'll extend the scene a mile in both directions.” Without another word she went back to the other techs and started barking out instructions.

  Now that it was a homicide, it had officially become a police matter. There wasn’t anything else for me to do, so I collected my things and headed toward the transport van. The two body movers were chatting with Brad, and I was dreading this next conversation.

  I caught the attention of the tall blond closest to me and said, “This is officially a homicide. I’m going to need you to take her to Mercy. I’ll contact Dr. Phillips and let him know you’ll be leaving a body for autopsy.”

  He nodded his understanding and hit his coworker in the arm. “Let’s go, man. If we hurry, I might be able to make it to that party.”

  I watch them unload the gurney before I turned to meet Brad’s gaze. Swallowing my pride, I smiled. “Do you think I can get a ride home when you’re finished? I sent Charlie off with my car."

  He shot me a prize-winning smile, dimples and all. “Why, Olivia, I thought you’d never ask.”

  My anger spiked, hot and explosive. “You know what? Never mind. I’ll just call Charlie and have her come pick me up.” I stormed off.

  “Wait, Olivia.” He hurried to catch up to me, but I refused to slow down. “Listen. I was kidding. I'm not exactly sure how to handle this.”

  I whirled on him and pointed my finger at his chest. “You don’t know how to handle this, so you thought being a jerk was the answer? I have two words for you. Fuck off. You’re being an asshole."

  “That’s more than two words.”

  I stepped closer, getting right up in his face. Every cell in my body hummed with the pent-up anger I was harboring. “They’re hyphenated.”

  He frowned and took several steps back. “Whoa. Cool down. You used to be able to take a joke. You don’t have to be so uptight.”

  That was the last straw. The floodgates opened, and I let out everything I hadn’t said when we broke up. “This isn’t a joke, Brad. I couldn’t care less what your issues are with me, but if you don’t start treating me with more respect, we’re going to have problems. You’re not being cute. You’re being a dick ex-boyfriend. Even more, you’re going end up with a sexual harassment charge. I’m having a hard enough time getting people to respect me. I don’t need you going around making sexual innuendos. Knock it the fuck off!”

  He took another step back, shielding himself with his hands. “Olivia, stop.” He backed up farther. A look of sheer terror crossed his face.

  That look. I realized I hadn’t replaced my charm. I fished the rings out of my pocket and slid them into place. All the sharp sensations around me became muffled, as if I were underwater. He was the main reason I wore the shield. I could deal with other people’s emotions, but when I had started dating Brad I realized how much my powers influenced the people around me. He told me once, after a fight, my anger was one of the scariest things he’d ever experienced.

  “I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it.” I held up my hand, showing him the charm. “I’m angry, yes, but I wasn’t trying to hurt you." I rubbed my forehead, suddenly tired. “Listen. I’m not ready to have anything but a professional relationship with you.”

  “I think you made that fairly clear,” he said and exhaled deeply, relaxing a little. We stood there for a few seconds in uncomfortable silence, neither one of us knowing what to say next.

  “I don’t know why you were so angry, Liv. It’s just a little strange to work with you now. Just because we’re not together doesn't mean I don’t like you anymore. Tell me what you want me to do.”

  “To start with, how about we treat this like work. Treat me like a colleague. Treat me like you’d treat Ian.”

  “So I should call you the Grim Reaper behind your back?” he said, his wolfish grin back.

  I bit back a smile at that inside joke. Ian did need some color in his wardrobe. It was a little creepy for the coroner to be clad head to toe in black all the time. I relaxed a litt
le. Brad always knew how to make me laugh, and it felt good, but I wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily.

  “How about we try to keep it professional.”

  “Fine.” He shrugged, and looked back to the scene, as though already bored with the conversation.

  I silently hoped he’d gotten the message, but somehow thought this was just the first of many conversations we’d have on the subject. Assuming we were done, I walked a little farther up the gravel road and tried to get a better cell signal.

  I heard his footsteps coming up behind me. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m calling Charlie to come get me.”

  “I thought you wanted me to give you a ride. It’s silly for her to come all the way out here when your house is on the way to mine. I said I’d be professional.”

  I debated the wisdom of letting him drive me home, but in the end decided to accept the offer. I had already ruined our girls’ night out, so I’d feel guilty interrupting whatever Charlie and Zoe had planned for the rest of the night.

  It was another two hours before we could leave the scene. Brad tried to play off the earlier argument by making small talk on the drive home, but when I didn’t join in he finally gave up. I spent the ride replaying the night’s events. It was the first time I’d ever failed to determine the cause of death, and I felt like I’d failed everyone involved—especially the victim.

  “You seem far away. What’s on your mind?” he asked when he pulled onto the private road that led to my house.

  “Nothing,” I said, dismissing him. But the more I thought about it, I realized he might be able to provide some insight into the case. “I was just thinking about that girl. Even though I couldn’t determine how she died, I’m certain someone killed her.”

  “How can you be so sure? I thought you didn’t know how she died.”

  “Just because I couldn’t isolate cause of death doesn’t mean I didn’t see anything. She was held against her will, and I’m almost positive magic was involved in her death.”