Raised in Fire (Fire and Ice Trilogy Book 2)

by K. F. Breene

  I didn’t bother carrying mine. It made me feel ridiculous.

  As expected, the policeman rolled his eyes and stepped to the side, lifting the tape marginally. Clarissa bent with stiff joints that seemed older than her years, and struggled to get under the tape.

  “Really, guy?” I pushed him aside and pulled the tape off the doorway. “Who raised you, a pack of cavemen? Give her a break.”

  “Hey!” he said, puffing up and reaching for his cuffs.

  “Yes, see how that works out for you.” I grinned manically. I could get a new identity, but could he repair his shattered ego after he got beaten up by a girl? I doubted it.

  He must’ve seen the crazy in my eyes: my natural urge for action coiled into a tight ball and straining for release. Wisely, he jerked his head for me to get going.

  I saluted him and walked through the doorway, leaving him to worry about the tape.

  “I have really stiff joints,” Clarissa said apologetically when she stopped in the entryway of the moderately sized house. “The doctor said that dropping some weight and exercising more would help. Easier said than done.”

  “I hear ya.” I took in the surroundings, feeling a light buzz of residual magic. Either someone had done one or more larger spells in the area a while ago, or a lesser-powered spell more recently. From where I was standing, I couldn’t tell what kind of spell, or what the magic might’ve been used for. Hopefully I’d get a better impression once we moved further into the house.

  Clarissa scoffed and took two small orbs from her satchel. “You’re skinny, young, and eat whatever you want. How do you hear me?”

  “Theoretically. Are we going to enter this place or what?”

  “Yes, just a minute.” She pulled out a bay leaf and a baggie of mustard-colored powder, the two fundamentals of a spell used to determine the type of residue magic left at a crime scene. It was MLE office issued, and seemed to work pretty well for all power levels.

  “Okay, here we go.” She straightened out and walked forward with her head held high, seemingly confident. Halfway through the dim interior, she turned left within the sitting room filled with older-style furniture, heading for another doorway.

  I stalled. The residual magic was a little stronger in this area. I moved through the space, feeling the hum with outstretched fingers. I didn’t need a handful of spices to tell me what had happened here. I just needed to pay attention, both to the magic and to people who might notice this rare trait of mine. Feeling the magic in spells wasn’t an unheard-of talent, but only extremely powerful mages were capable of it. I didn’t need meddlesome questions that I didn’t plan on answering. More meddlesome questions, I should say.

  A spell blanketed half the room. From what I could gather, it was a searching spell. But what was it looking for?

  I hastened to catch up with Clarissa, who’d already stepped through a sliding double door, only one side open. Tangerine light glowed in the living room beyond. When I followed her, I found the body sitting in a chair facing a blank, boxy TV, his head leaning unnaturally to the side and blood all down his front and shoulder. His mouth hung open and his eyes only showed the whites. Residual magic thrummed through my veins, revealing its secrets.

  Clarissa spoke to a detective I half recognized as the main contact point between our department and the normal human one. He was in the know as to what we really were. I suspected that was why I hadn’t witnessed him rolling his eyes. Although I hadn’t been in his company much, so maybe I’d just missed it.

  Another detective, a younger guy, stood off to the side, glowering at Clarissa. As soon as he noticed me, his scowl swung my way. He clearly didn’t know our real function, and probably wanted that fake magical whack job (Clarissa) and her ridiculously dressed cosplay friend (me) to adios. He had real work to do, damn it!

  I did love putting words into the detectives’ mouths. After all, their expressions were pretty clear tells.

  I stepped closer to the body.

  “No.” The younger detective’s hand firmly wrapped around my upper arm. “We can’t have you tampering with the evidence.”

  Somewhere in his later twenties or lower thirties—I wasn’t great with identifying ages—he was an attractive man spoiled by a patronizing smirk. I squared off with him. “I’ve seen more dead bodies than you can possibly imagine. Back off. I know what not to touch.”

  I’d never been very good at staying professional when I needed someone to back off. At least I stopped myself from saying I’d created more dead bodies than he could possibly imagine. Though, in my defense, they usually weren’t human, and if they were, they deserved it.

  “J.M., let her take a look,” the head detective said. That was why we were there, after all.

  I brushed by and leaned over the body, noticing the marks on the older man’s neck. “A sword makes sense,” I said, pointing at the wound. “Someone used more than one strike. He was hacked at with a dulled sword. Maybe rusty, maybe not. If you let your sword go that dull, you aren’t taking care of it. Attacked in anger, I’d bet. Passion. Not romantic passion, but the perp was possibly a loved one of some kind.”

  I pulled my sword from its sheath without thinking, and certainly without warning anyone first.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” J.M. held up his hands. “What’s going—”

  “Let her work,” the head detective barked.

  Huh. This was the first time one of the human police had let me wave my very pretty, though very deadly, sword around. I might grow to like this guy.

  I didn’t wait for him to take the directive back. Sword in two hands, I went through the motions of chopping at the guy’s neck. Then switched to one hand to see how my body positioning, and the sword positioning, might change.

  “Two-handed, definitely,” I said. “Two-handed, and the person swinging the hardware wasn’t very strong. A woman would be my guess, but maybe a scrawny guy.”

  “What gives you that impression?” J.M. asked, bracing his hands on his hips. The lead detective had a notepad out.

  “I mean, look at the hacking she had to do to nearly behead him.” I mimed the motions. “There’s all this torn skin around the wound.” I mimed the attack a little more and then stepped to the side, getting a better angle and more power. “Yes, look, she must’ve ended up here. She kept her distance—she didn’t bend over the guy and create downward cuts. That says woman to me. Women know they can be overpowered by a man, in general, so as a rule they keep their distance. Men just go forth. I could be wrong.” I shrugged. I wasn’t one of those women, so this was all guesswork.

  “But that guy looks like he just sat there and took it.” J.M. gestured at the body, arms rested on the armrests and feet on the floor like anyone sitting in a recliner watching TV.

  I glanced back at the lead detective. “I have some theories, but they are in the realm of divinity and crystal balls.” I sounded absurd, but that should get the point across. It was time to talk magic.

  “J.M., I got this,” the lead detective said to the younger guy. “We’re looking for a sword. Search the house again and talk to the neighbors.”

  “But I—”

  With a look from the lead detective, J.M. pinned me with a flat stare before turning and stalking from the room.

  “He’s not ready to know what I know,” the lead detective said quietly. “Hopefully someday, because he is driven and intelligent, but right now, he’s too hotheaded for his own good.”

  I nodded politely, which was miraculous, because not only did I not care, but it was also quitting time and I wanted to go home.

  “Right,” I said to get the show on the road. I sheathed my sword and glanced at Clarissa. “Hey, I think there was a spell used in the sitting room.” I gestured that way. “Can you check that out while I talk to him?”

  “How do you know there was a spell?” she asked, confused.

  “I, uh…” I dug in the leather pouch wrapped around my middle. As I did so, I felt my phone vibrate. Ti
lting it toward me, I saw an unfamiliar number.

  I pushed the button to still the phone and held up an empty casing for Clarissa to see. “I used a spell that I got…from a friend.”

  Clarissa’s brow furrowed and her head tilted. “I’ve never heard of a spell that can determine if magic was used.”

  “You do it.”

  She held up her bay leaf and baggie of powder. “Like this, yes. It takes time and practice. You can’t encase this type of spell. It doesn’t work that way.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Are you trying experimental magic? Because you do know that is forbidden in our line of work, don’t you?”

  I tried to look sheepish. It was as difficult as sounding polite. “Sorry. I’d used one before and it worked, so I figured, you know, the homeowner was already dead, so…”

  She rolled her eyes. “That’s not how we do things, Reagan. Let me see it.” I moved to hand over the empty casing. She dodged the offering. “No, I meant, let me see a loaded shell.”

  “Oh. I don’t have any more. This was my last one.”

  Her expression turned disbelieving. And it should’ve. When someone said it was their last piece of gum, how often was that legit? Rarely.

  “Ladies,” the lead detective said. “Can we get moving?”

  “Sorry. Yes. Reagan, I’ll talk to you about it later.” Clarissa sniffed, turned up her nose, and walked from the room.

  “Effective,” I muttered, putting away the empty casing and letting my palm hover near the wound.

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “Note to self: do not lie to the lead detective.”

  “You can call me Sean.”

  “Right. Sean.” I’d totally forget. I already knew it. Then next time I met him, it would be awkward because I’d have to ask for his name again, and he would undoubtedly remember mine. I hated the black hole in my memory that always swallowed names. “Okay, Sean,” I said, trying to use his name as often as possible in hopes it would stick. “Let’s get freaky, shall we?”

  “What’s that?” he asked, taken aback.

  “Magic, man,” I said quietly. I didn’t want Clarissa to hear, and Sean wouldn’t know how rare my abilities were. “Get ready to write things down.”

  I felt my phone vibrate again. Trying not to let it distract me, I focused on the magical hum of the body’s neck, then moved closer so I could feel that of the drying blood on his clothes. Finally, I used two hands to feel the pulse from around the chair, including where the body’s hands rested.

  “How long ago did this happen?” I asked.

  “Three hours. At first we didn’t know it was magical in nature, or we would’ve called you sooner.”

  “What tipped you off?”

  “The sword. Normal people don’t walk around hacking people’s necks with swords.”

  “You’re not from New Orleans, are you?”

  “No.” He shifted. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have said he was uncomfortable. “Seattle. Why? Is it the West Coast accent?”

  “All kinds of crazy stuff goes down in New Orleans…” Dang it! What had he said his name—

  “Sean!” I smiled in triumph. Moving on. “A sword doesn’t make it magical.”

  “It did in this case.”

  “Touché.” I backed away and started wandering around the room, feeling the same type of spell blanket as in the sitting room. “You’re looking for a mage. Someone moderate to high in power. These spells all have the same beat, so I’d bet they were all done by her. Or him—I’m still not sure about the sex. That mage doesn’t use a sword often, I’ll tell you that much, and the weapon was older, but it was most likely hers. She wouldn’t commit murder with a loaner, and a new one would be sharp. She’s been doing magic for a while, which means she’ll be at least, the very least, mid-thirties. I’d bet forties or greater, though, judging by the intricacies of the spell. She’s had time to work on her craft.”

  “His daughter?”

  I glanced at the older man sitting dead in the chair, probably mid- to late seventies. “That was a jump, but…could be.”

  Sean pointed at a framed picture on the mantel of the man, an older woman who was probably his wife, and a younger woman who didn’t look like either of them.

  “Maybe, I don’t know. I’m just giving you the facts. Anyway, she did a spell to keep him in place. See his hands? They were clawing at the chair, but his arms clearly couldn’t move. His legs couldn’t either. He was magically pinned to this chair. Usually holding someone like that is done for information. She was definitely looking for something in this house. The blanket spell in the sitting room, and here in the living room, points to that.

  “If I’m wrong about looking for something, though, then she was giving threats. Except you don’t chop at someone’s neck to deliver a warning. That’s just stupid. She probably would have beaten him if that was her aim, and there’s no sign of that.”

  “Can’t a person kill with magic?”

  “Absolutely. Which is why I think this was done out of anger, or passion of some kind. She is powerful enough, and knowledgeable enough, to kill with magic. But instead, she hacked away at his neck.” My phone vibrated again. I gritted my teeth. “The last thing, and then I’ll leave you to your deductions”—so I could yell at whoever was repeatedly bothering me—“is that blanket spell. A treasure hunt, perhaps. Looking for—”

  “I know what she was doing in there!” Clarissa emerged from the sitting room. Her eyes twinkled. “The perpetrator was trying to find something.”

  “What do you think that might be?” Sean asked her.

  Leaving them to chat, I wandered into the kitchen. No magic. Jogging now, I headed into a back bedroom. The searching spell was even thicker in here. Headier. She’d used more power, probably suspecting this was where her treasure was hidden.

  Just real quick, because my curiosity was burning, I did a look-n-see, immediately finding the disturbed closet. She’d torn the thing apart. There was no way to tell if she’d found what she was looking for.

  Back in the living room, I took out my phone. An SOS 911 message, signed Smokey—how did he get my number?—a voicemail, and a text message from the captain. Call ASAP. We got a nasty one. I need the whole team on this one.

  “Oh it’s happening,” I said with a surge of excitement. “I’m finally going head to head with Garret.”

  “What’s the matter?” Clarissa asked, the triumph over her discovery melting away.

  I hooked a thumb over my shoulder. “The perp might’ve found what she was looking for in the closet in the bedroom. Or maybe it was supposed to be there and wasn’t. I don’t know, but I gotta go. We got something. Something big. Garret better step aside—a new king is in town.”

  “Wait a minute, Ms. Somerset. I have a few questions.” Sean took a step toward me.

  “I was just helping out,” I said as I tapped into voicemail. “Clarissa knows what’s up. She can hold the fort.”

  “I have to go, too.” Clarissa’s face turned white as she held her phone to her ear. “Dear God. There is an aswang in the city.”

  Chapter Three

  “What’s an aswang?” I asked as I led Clarissa out of the house. Adrenaline spiked in my blood.

  “It’s a type of…demon, I guess you could call it, from Filipino lore. Not a true demon, like from the underworld, but…evil. Filipinos think of it as evil. I only know about the creatures from books. I’ve never actually seen one. They are immensely powerful, and eat babies and the organs of adults.”

  “Holy crap, they eat babies? That’s messed up.” I grimaced. “Well then, that is definitely a green light to kill it. Right? I can kill it?”

  “You’ve just seen the horror of violence in action, and you’re eager to go kill something?”

  “Is that a trick question? Because I feel like you should know the answer to that based on my personality…”

  “Fine. Whatever. Okay, so you’ll be going into the heat of battle. That�
�s your job. You signed on to be the front line—”

  “I’m not complaining,” I said, patting my gun. “I’m in it to win it.”

  “You’re worrying me.”

  “Wise. What should I expect?” Not that it really mattered. I’d run right at the beastie with a snarl turned smile regardless of how vile it was. That was what I did. It was what I excelled at.

  Hell, it was why MLE had hired me. We both climbed into the car.

  “If we are being called, it has tried to feed. They like intestines the best, I’ve read, and will move from person to person if they have the option, getting their fill. They like preying on the weak.”

  She leveled me with a serious look from behind the wheel. “They are hard to kill, Reagan. You have to stab it in the back with a sword.”

  “How is that hard to kill? Sounds pretty easy to me.”

  “Not as easy as you’d think. They can shape-shift. Some might look like large wolves. Others might turn into a flock of birds. They travel extremely quickly, almost as fast as a vampire, I’ve read. And they spook easily, taking flight or running when they think they’re outnumbered or can’t get an easy feed.”

  “Got it. I need to be quick like a bunny, so I can stick a sword in the creature’s back before it flies away.”

  She blew out a frustrated breath and checked her phone. A glance at the address told me we were headed into the heart of the French Quarter. Talk about easy prey. Get a drunk person, of which there were a great many, on their own, and the creature could have its fill.

  “If it bites or scratches you while in its humanoid form,” Clarissa continued, stepping on the gas, “you’ll die if I don’t get to you fast enough. They kill really easily.”

  I doubted it. I was absolved from most evil, especially the demon variety. Daddy Dearest had given me a lot of his powerful gifts. Not like I could tell her that. I’d just have to hide any wounds I took until they healed over.

  “Okay, then. Don’t get killed, move quickly, and kill the thing.” I nodded decisively and entwined my fingers in my lap. The adrenaline pulsed in my blood now, something that would make me as fast as a vampire, increase my strength, and keep me moving. I was made for action, not a cubicle.