Thrall

by Jennifer Blackstream

  Scath made an approving sound in her throat. “Convenient. They have a sparring partner they don’t have to worry about hurting.”

  Asher grinned. “Exactly. It’s all very well to tell a woman to jab an attacker in the eye with her keys, but they don’t really have confidence they can do it until they try.”

  I looked away, suddenly ready for the conversation part of this outing to be over. Asher had been my sparring partner once. Flint’s idea, of course. It was because of that experience that the goblin had taken an interest in me. And one of the many reasons I looked forward to the day I could get revenge on Flint for everything he’d done to my life.

  “Asher, did we have a meeting?”

  I turned to find a pretty white woman in her early fifties walking toward us. She wore a sharp blue suit and shoes with just enough heel to make a satisfying, rhythmic clicking sound on the parking garage floor. Her graying blonde hair showed no hint of any dye, and she met my eyes without hesitation, reaching out to shake my hand as soon as she was close enough.

  “Susan Barton.”

  “Shade Renard,” I said, taking her hand.

  “How can I help you?”

  Asher crossed his arms, pushing them down as if tugging the skin on his chest still open from Scath’s claw marks. “The defense lawyer you told me about, the one you think is a sadist. Is he here today?”

  Susan’s eyes narrowed. “He is.”

  Asher grinned. “You don’t happen to know where he’s parked?”

  She pointed without hesitation. “That’s him.”

  “Thanks.”

  I stared after the prosecutor as she gave me a small nod and left. I couldn’t help but feel slightly off kilter from the rapid exchange of information and the meeting’s abrupt ending. “What’s going on?”

  Asher was already heading for the vehicle Susan had indicated, a dark grey SUV. “Susan has a sixth sense for powerful men with a mean streak. She’s mentioned this guy before.”

  “And you think he’s involved because he’s a sadist?”

  “I think he’s involved because I’ve seen him at the club talking to Katie.”

  I started to say something, then stopped when Asher raised a fist.

  “Wait!”

  He paused, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. “What?”

  “You can’t punch out his window!” I looked around for the security cameras I knew were here. “You’ll get caught on camera.”

  “No, I won’t. Susan will have that one turned off.” He pointed to the camera in the corner, the one that covered the area we stood in now.

  “She has access to the security cameras?”

  “No, but her brother does. She always turns them off before she comes down to meet me.”

  “But doesn’t he turn them back on as soon as she goes back inside?”

  Asher chuckled. “Probably not after I asked her to point out that sadist’s car. Susan is very smart.”

  His cell phone rang, and Asher glanced down. He grinned as he answered. “Hi, Susan. Yeah, okay.” He ended the call. “She says hurry up.”

  “Oh, fine. Just—” I froze. “Oh, blood and bone.”

  Asher followed my stare, and his eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t know he had a kitten.”

  “He doesn’t.” I stormed up to the car window and glared at Majesty. The kitten was sitting on the grey leather driver’s seat, tail curled around him, neat as you please.

  “Majesty, get out of there,” I said through the window.

  He ignored me. Tail lashing side to side, he rose on his hind legs and put his paws on the steering wheel.

  “Wouldn’t it be funny if he said ‘vroom, vroom?’” Scath said.

  I glared at her. “No, it would not.”

  “Funnier than fire,” Peasblossom said lightly.

  I jerked my attention back to the vehicle, then fell back a step.

  Flames had erupted in the driver’s seat. Majesty was nowhere in sight, as if he’d been replaced by the flames licking up the leather interior. For all I know he had. The miserable little beastie was always coming up with new tricks.

  “Majesty!” I shouted.

  Asher nudged me aside, his arm already up, fist aimed at the window. He struck it harder than I would have given him credit for, and the glass fractured. It took four more strikes, but he managed to get his fist through. I couldn’t tell if he was breathing heavy from the exertion, the pain, or the pleasure as he reached inside and unlocked the door.

  Probably a little of all three.

  He felt around the fire, groaning as he leaned farther in. I groped at the zipper to my waist pouch, jerking it open with shaking hands. “Bizbee, fire extinguisher!”

  The grig hefted the requested item out of the pouch, careful not to stick his delicate fuzzy antennae far enough out of the protective cover to risk being singed. I doused the car—and the goblin—in flame retardant.

  “That was uncalled for,” Asher muttered. “I was fine.”

  “We need to get out of here,” I said. “Is Majesty in there?”

  Asher held up his hands. In one, he held an unharmed grey kitten. In the other, he held a small electronic device.

  Majesty mewled pitifully. There was a definite hint of complaint in his tone, and Scath took him quickly before I could give him a piece of my mind.

  “What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the device Asher held in his other hand.

  He started walking out of the garage. “His GPS.”

  “Peasblossom, a little illusion so they don’t see a singed goblin walking away from the burning car?” I grabbed Asher’s arm with one hand, then Scath with the other. “Something a little more reputable?”

  Asher pressed the buttons on the GPS, red eyes fixed on the display as I led us all out of the parking garage and away from the cameras. I couldn’t help but glance back toward the smoldering SUV. Whatever illusion Peasblossom had created for us as a group, it wouldn’t be specific enough to catch me looking back. Maybe I should have Asher call Susan. Make sure we weren’t caught on tape…

  “Don’t worry about it,” Asher told me without looking up from the GPS. “Lawyers are used to vandalism—especially that guy.”

  “You don’t know that for sure,” I argued.

  Asher grinned. “Actually, I do.” He jabbed a broken claw at the screen. “This one. We’ve been looking at that area. That’ll be the new fight club.”

  I spent the cab ride to the address Asher had indicated thinking about the goblin’s relationship to the lawyer. What else didn’t I know about him that might become relevant? Had I misjudged him in other ways? I studied him out of the corner of my eye. Goblins, like many species of Other, weren’t averse to eating what they killed—whatever it was. It wouldn’t surprise me at all to find out he’d eaten humans.

  But one of the first things Mother Hazel had taught me—along with how little a part magic played in being a witch—was how subjective social mores were. She’d once pointed out that if you killed something—or someone—and didn’t eat them, then wasn’t that the greater sin? Letting meat go to waste. Killing something else when you could have eaten what was already there.

  The cab stopped, and I was only too grateful to redirect my attention to our destination. From the outside, the building looked pretty much as I’d expected. Another abandoned warehouse of some sort, broken windows, etc. But something was off.

  I stopped in the middle of the parking lot and looked down.

  “What?” Asher asked.

  “No broken glass.” I pointed at the parking lot, widening the gesture to encompass the whole thing. “No bits of metal, no glass, no rusting cans. Nothing that might damage your tires.” I looked ahead toward the building, walking faster as my attention landed on the door. “This door has been painted to look like it’s rusted and broken, but it’s not. It’s almost new. Solid steel.”

  “A place for rich people to slum it without putting them or their precious vehicles in too mu
ch danger.” Asher snorted. “Typical.”

  “The doors are new, and the first floor windows are boarded up.” I looked up at the second floor. I had spells that could help me get up there, but I’d already thrown around a lot of magic back at the casino. And who knew what I would need once we got inside?

  “I could fly up to one of the broken windows,” Peasblossom offered.

  I shook my head. “I don’t want you going in there alone. We don’t know who—or what—could be in there. And the building could have other defenses or—”

  “How about a leg up?” Asher asked.

  I glanced back to see him looking at Scath. The sidhe grinned and walked up to the building, then laced her hands together to make a foothold. Asher took a few steps back, then charged. As soon as his foot hit Scath’s hands, she hefted up. Asher shot up to the second floor, punching his fist out as he passed the window.

  “Nice distance,” Peasblossom said appreciatively.

  Asher caught the broken window on the way back down, and I hissed as a jagged piece of glass on the lower frame pierced his palm. The goblin let out a shuddering breath I could hear from my position a story below him, and my stomach rolled.

  I didn’t watch him squirm to heft himself up and through the window. Peasblossom flew up to listen, just in case the goblin ran into trouble he didn’t enjoy. A minute or so later, the door made a metallic grinding noise, and swung open on well-oiled hinges.

  “Welcome to my parlor,” Asher said.

  I knew it was the right place as soon as we went inside. Scath jerked her nose up, nostrils flaring. Peasblossom pressed herself against my neck, and a shiver ran through her tiny body.

  “This is an evil place,” she whispered. “It feels wrong.”

  It was still only late afternoon, and there were plenty of broken windows to let in the light. The warehouse had been refurbished, gutted and smoothed out as if the owner had intended to convert it into one of those trendy nightclubs. A wide catwalk circled the perimeter at the second floor level. A silver chain link fence traveled from the railing of the catwalk all the way to the ceiling. Meant to protect the audience, I guessed.

  The center of the warehouse’s first floor had been carved to make a pit. This wasn’t a cage fight like Fortuna’s had become, but more in the style of the old gladiator stadiums.

  “Shade,” Scath said softly.

  I tore my gaze away from the pit and followed where she was looking. Dread curled in my belly, heavy and cold.

  At the far end of the room there was a high stone platform at the top of a narrow set of carved stairs. A long bench sat at the top. There was no mistaking the rust colored stains on the stone. Or the smell.

  It was an altar.

  I really, really didn’t want to see it any closer. But I had to.

  No one said anything as I forced myself up the stairs. Ritualistic death leaves a feeling in the air. Any magic user will tell you it charges the atmosphere, stains it like red wine on a linen shirt. Animals will sense it too. The hairs on the back of my neck rose as I put my foot on the top step.

  A small pillar centered behind the blood-stained table held a goblet, a mabkahara, and a small glass jar stained a pale, translucent white. I leaned over the goblet. It smelled of anise and alcohol. And the mabkahara, the incense burner, still emanated the smell of sandalwood. I looked at the jar, but didn’t touch it. I didn’t know what it was for, and without my third eye, there was no way to find out. I’d have to call Vincent.

  “Someone died here.”

  I jumped at the sound of Scath’s voice behind me. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, but the open character of the warehouse made it sound like she’d spoken from directly behind me. Heart pounding, I retreated down the stairs, suddenly in a hurry to get away from the altar.

  “I’d imagine many people died here.” My voice sounded thin, but I didn’t think anyone would judge me too harshly for it.

  Scath shook her head. “Not the altar. I mean somewhere else in the building. I smell a dead body. Recent.”

  “Blood and bone,” I cursed.

  Asher was oddly quiet as we followed Scath deeper into the building. He looked at the fighting arena as if imagining what went on inside it. I wondered how he felt about the altar, but I didn’t ask.

  Scath led us up to the second floor. A doorway there led to a hallway with four more rooms. She moved to the door at the end of the hall and pushed it open. “Here.”

  “Who is it?” I asked around the lump in my throat.

  Scath glanced back at me, green eyes eerie in the muted shadows of the hallway.

  “Detective Stafford.”

  Chapter 17

  “Blood and bone.” I stood in the doorway for a second, staring at the body slumped over the large desk. It was just a body now. Stafford was gone. His eyes were open, his head hanging. I could tell by the smell in the room that his bowels had been perforated. A slow death.

  “Smells like he was stabbed in the gut,” Scath said, crossing the room to view the body.

  “Weapon or claws?” I asked.

  Scath leaned down and reached one hand out to pull at his clothes. I caught a flash of his badge still hooked to his belt as she pulled his jacket aside. “Looks like a knife. But without taking his clothes off, I can’t be sure.”

  I raised a hand, Vincent’s forensic spell on the tip of my tongue. A sharp pain lanced through my head, reminding me that my third eye was still well and truly damaged. Colored sparks exploded behind my eyelids, taunting me.

  “Are you okay?” Peasblossom asked worriedly.

  “Fine. Just a headache.”

  I felt Asher watching me. It was unnerving the way he did that. Worse, there was something about the way he kept pressing on the wound in his shoulder where Scath’s claws had penetrated him. Now when he touched the wounds, the skin between his brows furrowed. He must be healing. He switched his attention to the fresh wound in his palm, the deep puncture where he’d stopped his fall by grabbing the jagged window pane. He let out a shaky sigh.

  I moved away from him, refocusing on my latest crime scene. The blood on the desk caught my eye. Someone had smeared it. And it looked like—

  I froze. “Look at the desk.”

  “Does that say ‘stabbed?’” Asher asked, squinting at the letters.

  “No,” I said hoarsely. “No, it says… It says ‘Stavros.’”

  “Stavros is dead,” Scath said. “Fey don’t lie.”

  “Ian never said he killed him, he only implied it,” I pointed out, my heart pounding.

  “He has to be dead,” Scath argued. “Look at Fortuna’s. Stavros wouldn’t have just walked away from all of that. It wasn’t just the fight club, he had deals going with some very powerful people. People who wouldn’t let him walk away. Or fake his own death.”

  “You’re right, he might walk away from the fight club, but he wouldn’t walk away from the contracts.” I stared at the bloody name, a memory floating back to me. Stafford’s voice.

  “There have to be some contracts left. Something that will give me some leverage!”

  “Unless he took those with him,” I whispered.

  “You think he’s alive?” Peasblossom dipped in the air. Every nerve in my body spasmed, and my hands shot out on instinct, ready to catch her. She scowled and flew higher.

  “We need to find out if he’s actually dead. Scath?” I asked, my voice a little too loud. I needed a distraction, something to occupy my brain until Kylie got here. “Can you smell the Sanctum here? Anyone we encountered at the Acme Building last time?”

  “They were here. Recently. But I don’t know where they went.” She nodded to the floor behind the desk.

  “Please don’t tell me it’s another teleportation circle.”

  Scath shrugged. “Okay, I won’t tell you it’s another teleportation circle.”

  “Blood and bone.” I circled around the desk and cursed again. “They teleported out.”

  “Teleporta
tion circles aren’t easy,” Peasblossom pointed out. “Especially not permanent ones. Look at that. The silver is inlaid into the concrete floor. That’s expensive.”

  “I think we need to consider the possibility that Stavros is alive,” I said, hating myself for saying it out loud. “It’s starting to seem more and more like he’s involved.”

  “No.” Scath shook her head. “Even if he could have survived—which seems ridiculous given who killed him—there’s no way he would stay in the same city. Someone would squeal.”

  I opened my mouth, then snapped it closed. Scath wasn’t meeting my eyes, and her hands had closed into tight fists. All of a sudden, a memory roared back to the front of my brain. Scath lying on the floor of my apartment, her body riddled with iron shards. Dying. Bleeding to death because the same man who’d killed Stavros had very nearly killed her.

  My poker face must have slipped, because when Scath looked at me, her entire face shut down.

  “I’ll see if I can pick up their scent anywhere else,” she mumbled.

  Before I could respond, she’d gone. Tension wove through my shoulders, pulling them tight. There weren’t a lot of things that scared the sidhe. Not that I knew of. But apparently that memory was one of them. And I’d forgotten all about it.

  “She’ll talk when she’s ready,” Peasblossom said quietly.

  “When it happened, I didn’t even know she had a human form,” I whispered. “And it never occurred to me to talk to her after I knew. Was that wrong?”

  “What happened?” Asher asked curiously.

  “Nothing.” I rubbed my temples, trying to ease the headache that had started when I tried to use Vincent’s forensic spell before I remembered my third eye. “I need to call this in.” I groped for my phone and called Liam. He answered on the second ring, and I told him where we were and what we’d found.

  “I just sent Blake and Sonar to pick Kylie up. I’ll have him swing by for Vince and head over there. Shouldn’t take more than half an hour.”

  “Why did you send Blake and Sonar to get Kylie? Did you find another body?”