Witch's Storm (The Bone Coven Chronicles Book 2)

by Jenna Wolfhart

  Sean nodded, closing his eyes as he let out a harsh breath. “Well, I won’t let it happen again. Not in my fucking bar. What can I do to help?”

  With a smile, I turned to Dorian who shuffled through his file and pulled three sheets of paper from a manilla folder. “We have the photos of the victims. I need you to tell us if you recognize any of them.”

  Dorian lined up the photos on the desk, but Sean shook his head after a moment’s glance. “A lot of people come in here, and I only work the bar on days that Frank doesn’t come in. This girl…” He tapped the photo. “She’s a pretty one, isn’t she? I’d remember if I served her. And this guy, he’s got that tattoo on his neck. I always notice tattoos.” The man shook his head and pushed the photos back to our side of the desk. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t remember seeing any of them.”

  Dorian nodded, doing his best to keep his disappointment hidden, but I knew he felt the same intense need to find the murderer as I did. And stat. The killer had targeted a different blood mage three nights this week already, and time was ticking by. We needed a break in the case, and we needed it fast. Otherwise, we’d have another body on our hands.

  “Can you share the dates of each crime, Zoe?” Dorian asked as he shuffled the photos back into the folder.

  Even though the manager already knew when two of the bodies had been found, I listed the three dates. “Were you here then?”

  “Actually, you know what, I wasn’t here any of those nights.” Sean sighed and ran his fingers through his long hair. “I’m sorry. I feel like this isn’t helping at all.”

  “It’s helping plenty.” I gave him an encouraging nod, even though he was right. If he wasn’t working those nights, there wasn’t much he could tell us. Fortunately, I had one last question in my arsenal, one I hoped could help shed some light on what had happened. “Dorian and I noticed you had some surveillance cameras situated around the bar. Are those up and running?”

  Sean nodded, his eyes lighting up in relief. “You know what? I do. We record over the tapes each week because we’ve never had to use them before, but we’ll have footage of the nights you need. Want to take a look?”

  Boy, did I.

  Sean left us with the tapes while he returned to the bar. He told us to take all the time we needed, and for once, I felt like we’d met someone who meant it. Someone who truly wanted to help us catch the killer—a genuine person rocked by the realization that the murderer could have found his victims in this club. Sean was just trying to make a living, pouring his heart and soul, and his time and energy into a place he’d built from the ground up all by himself. People like Sean were the reason why I wanted to help this world. And they were why I would do whatever it took to banish the demons that wanted to destroy it.

  Despite it all, there were good people in this world, and they deserved our help.

  Dorian slid the tape into the old, beat-up VCR and pushed play. These rattly gray boxes were ancient. I’d never operated one myself. Luckily, Dorian seemed right at home with the controls. We sat back in our chairs and spun through the footage, the moments stretching into hours as we tried to spot our victims.

  “There.” I stabbed the screen and leaned forward. Sure enough, Sylvia Anderson walked across the screen, her long dark hair trailing behind her. She was alone in the same sleek black dress she’d been wearing when we’d found her behind Blue Moon Tavern. She wandered around the club with her eyes darting in every direction as if she were looking for someone. After several moments, she edged up to the bar and ordered a drink. Once she’d downed the booze, she exited the bar, and that was that.

  “Well, that wasn’t very helpful.” I frowned and sat back in the chair. “Go back. Let’s watch it again.”

  Dorian replayed the footage, but nothing changed in the second viewing. He rubbed his jaw and sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t understand. I was certain we’d see something here. She just came in, had a drink, and left.”

  “There has to be more to it than that,” I said, refusing to give up hope just yet. “Let’s watch the following night’s footage.”

  Dorian and I went through the motions once again, watching the footage from the following night. And just as before, we saw the second victim, Mark Spencer, walk circles in the club, order a drink, and then leave without a word to anyone else.

  We locked eyes and frowned, our expressions reflected back on each other. Even though it had been a day since we’d bonded with our blood, the link was still there all the same. I could read his emotion, and he could read mine, our thoughts and feelings winding inexplicably together. We were confused as hell. None of this made any sense. Why would the mages walk into the bar and then leave?

  “Are you seeing something that I’m not?” I finally asked. “Someone following them? Some creepy figure hovering in the corner?”

  “No.” Dorian tapped his finger against the VCR, staring hard at the grainy figures that did nothing to explain who had killed the mages. “Let’s watch the last tape, though I have a sneaking suspicion we’ll see a girl walk in and walk right back out again.”

  And he was right. Our third and final victim, Alice French, strode into the bar. This time, our victim looked a little angry. Probably because she’d been aware her fellow blood mages were getting knocked off one by one. Had she been here looking for the killer? She walked straight up to the bar, ordered a drink, and then left, leaving the glass on the bar top. Frowning, I stared at the empty drink, trying to understand what was going on. The bartender swiped up the glass and tossed it into the sink.

  As he shifted sideways, something about the curve of his jaw caught my attention. Wait a minute. I gasped, leaning forward. I recognized him. I hadn’t noticed, partly because I’d been too focused on the rest of the club to pay attention to the bartender, and partly because he wasn’t sporting a massive pair of horns.

  It was the bartender from Slayerville. Fane Dogaru, a descendent of the Clan leader himself.

  Sean’s bartender wasn’t Frank. He was Fane.

  Pieces of the puzzle began to click together. The dates of the blood mage deaths? Only when he had been working here. He’d been at Slayerville last night, on the same evening of the third murder, but he must have worked shifts at each back-to-back.

  And he’d taken tonight off. Sean had said it was because he’d called in sick, but I knew better than that. Slayerville had just burned down, and he’d been there when it happened. Vampires, despite being immortal, could very much burn. Fire couldn’t destroy them completely, but it could cause a lot of pain. And it took a hell of a lot longer for burns to heal. Hence, why he’d called in sick tonight.

  There was still a lot that didn’t make sense. The why, for one. And the how. Fane had slashed the victims’ necks, but that wasn’t how Daywalkers killed. And they certainly didn’t leave behind so much blood. Not when they could drink it fresh.

  “Look.” I pointed at the bartender, his blurry little face flashing a grin at the retreating back of Alice French. “It’s the Slayerville bartender with the horns. He’s the only person in the entire club that all three victims spoke to on the nights of their deaths.”

  Dorian let out a low whistle. “Would you look at that? Good work, Zoe. I never would have recognized him without the horns.”

  At his praise, I lifted my chin and felt my lips curl up at the corners. “Thank you. Unfortunately, as great as it is to solve this case, I don’t think my find is great news.”

  He shoved his finger against the pause button and sighed. “It’s terrible news. If a vampire was involved in the attacks, then we could be looking at a serious problem. The Blood Coven won’t take something like that sitting down. Not the small splinter coven here, and certainly not the main branch in Scotland. They despise vampires. And if the blood mages lift even the slightest finger in the direction of the Daywalkers, this could mean war.”

  War, war, war. It was a word I was getting far too accustomed to hearing these days.

  “We’
ve met him,” I said, staring at the grainy face on the screen. “As weird as he is, he didn’t seem like the kind of vampire who would want to murder mages for sport.”

  “There’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years on this planet, Zoe. The ones who seem innocent are often the ones you have to watch out for the most.”

  Chapter 21

  Daywalkers didn’t live in crypts or in underground tunnels. Or, most of them didn’t, anyway. They lived on residential streets, in city apartment buildings, or in loft spaces they’d held onto for countless years. Being as old as they were, most of them had plenty of years to collect the cash they needed, so money wasn’t an object where they were concerned.

  Fane Dogaru lived in one such space. An expansive loft on the top floor of a brick apartment building, situated in an artsy neighborhood near the college campus. Even though Dorian had been effectively shunned by the Slayerville crowd, it turned out he still had a few contacts who were happy to give him the inside scoop. And they were more than happy to pass along the address of Christian Dogaru’s grandson.

  I knocked on the door and put my finger over the peephole. He’d be able to hear the beating of my heart, the sound of my breath shooting from my lungs, and the way my boots scuffed against the carpet. He’d be able to hear Laura’s breath catch in her throat and the way she wrung her hands together. But he probably wouldn’t be able to hear Dorian, not with the way my vampire partner was able to hold his body so still he looked like a frozen Greek God statue.

  “Shadow witch. Blood witch,” came a weary voice from the other side of the door. “I don’t remember inviting either of you to my home.”

  “You didn’t,” I said. “We need to talk to you about your bartending job at Descent. Does your Clan leader know you’re working another gig?”

  Silence fell heavily around us, and for a moment, I thought he’d walked away. But then a heavy lock clicked, followed by another, and another, until the vampire swung open his door. His eyes flashed to Dorian’s tense form, and immediately, he went to shut us out.

  “No Unbounds,” Fane said. “Christian has made it clear we aren’t to speak to you, Dorian. You shouldn’t have come here.”

  “Wait.” I threw out my boot to block the closing door. It slammed hard against my foot, and I flinched in pain. “Let us in or I will go to your grandfather right now and tell him about your job working for a human.”

  It was a bit of a bluff, and I was going out on a limb here assuming that Fane hadn’t told his grandfather about his second bartending job. But I was pretty certain I was right. There was no way in hell a centuries-old vampire would approve of one of his direct descendants working for what he considered food.

  Fane narrowed his eyes and hissed. “You’re playing with fire, little witch. I should reach out and snap your neck right now.”

  A growl rumbled from Dorian’s throat. “Go ahead and try. There’s three of us and one of you. And from the looks of it, you’re not doing so well.”

  Dorian was right. Fane held onto the door like it was the only thing giving him strength. The burn marks were scattered across his pale skin, still red and angry. The wounds looked a hell of a lot better than they’d look on any normal person, but they still must have stung like fire ants. Without his signature horns, he looked pretty fucking pathetic for a vampire.

  Fane growled right back at Dorian, but then he cracked open the door a little wider. “Fine. Come inside.”

  The three of us filed into the loft apartment. Everything was stark white and pale in the moonlit room. There wasn’t a splash of color anywhere. Even the paintings that hung on the walls were beige with images of horns in each and every one. Fane hobbled to a curved white couch and sunk into the cushions, pulling a knitted throw over his aching body.

  “You’re not healing very fast,” Laura said. “Is it because of the burns?”

  Fane winced as he shifted on the couch. “Really, must you gape at my pitiful state?”

  “I’m sorry,” Laura stammered. “It’s just…well, I thought you healed faster than this. Doesn’t drinking blood help with that?”

  “I don’t drink blood very often. See?” Fane pointed to his eyes, which were a pale pink instead of red. “Now, why the hell are you here? To torment me needlessly while I’m in pain?”

  Dorian strode closer to the couch, his large commanding frame towering over Fane. “Are you aware that three blood mages have died recently?”

  “Three?” Fane clucked his tongue. “No, I was aware of two. Both outside of Descent. Both by what looked to be a werewolf attack.”

  “That’s right, though it was three instead of two,” I said. “They all died near Descent, within half an hour of speaking to you at the bar.”

  Fane fell silent, staring at us. His eyes sparked with a new kind of irritation and rage, and his hands curled tight into fists, making his long fingers scratch against the soft skin of his palms. “If I’m understanding you correctly, you seem to be insinuating that I was involved in their deaths.”

  “That’s not what we’re saying,” Laura said quickly. “But you have to admit, there’s a connection. There has to be. Why were they there? What did they speak to you about?”

  The vampire began to laugh, a wet choking sound that caught me off guard. Frowning, I glanced at Dorian, who just shrugged, though his brows furrowed to a sharp and pointed V. “Oh, dear, sweet little witches. You’re so innocent. So naive. So oblivious to what’s going on within your own world.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I snapped.

  “I did not kill your blood mages,” he said, “though I would not feel guilty if I had. They deserved their fate.”

  “Excuse me?” Laura stood from the chair, body visibly shaking. Anger sparked in her eyes, and she glared down at the vampire. Even though she was short and petite, she suddenly seemed larger than even Dorian. “I know some vampires like you have no moral compass, but you can’t honestly tell me you believe an innocent mage deserved a brutal death? You say you have no demonic ties, but if that’s not evil, then I don’t know what is.”

  “I’ll tell you about something evil, my dear.” He flashed his fangs as he smiled at Laura. “A coven of angry mages who wants to destroy every vampire on this planet, including yours truly. After what happened this fall with your traitor Enforcer and the various battles we waged against each other, the Blood Hunter Coven decided to do whatever it took to destroy us. All of us. I bet you’re wondering what caused that fire at Slayerville. Well, I know exactly who it was. The Blood Hunter Coven.”

  With a sharp gasp, I stared at the vampire. “You’re lying.”

  “Go ask them. I’m sure they’d be more than happy to tell you the truth.” He shuddered as he pulled the blanket up to his chin. “However, despite their terrible actions, I didn’t kill them. Someone else must have gotten to them. Another vampire, maybe. For awhile, I was certain it was a werewolf. There’s been one running around the city these past few months.”

  “We’ve ruled out the werewolf,” Dorian said quietly. “This information about the coven’s plan to destroy vampires. Where did you hear this?”

  A smug smile spread across Fane’s lips. “From their own fucking lips. They told me one night at Descent. They didn’t realize I was a vampire at first. I overheard them talking about going back to the old slayer ways from the 1700s, so I asked a few questions. Turns out, they’re not very good at keeping their own secrets.”

  “What about the nights they died?” Laura asked. “On the video footage, they walked in, ordered a drink, and then left. Pretty strange coincidence, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, that.” He chuckled to himself. “I compelled them. After I heard all about their little plan to destroy my kind, I decided to put a suggestion into all their pretty heads. Come see me and have a little drink. They were spiked with Cloud Red.”

  Laura wrinkled her nose. “That’s horrendous.”

  “Don’t be dramatic.” Fane clucked his
tongue. “I gave them a vampire elixir. I didn’t murder them, love.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Did you compel all of them to go see you?”

  “Each one was told to come in on a night I planned on working,” he said, groaning as he shifted on the couch. “Another mage would have come during tonight’s shift, but as you can see, I’m flat on my back here. It’s a shame. I need the money for another pair of horns.”

  “Shit.” I crossed the room and stared out at the deep night sky. We were halfway across Boston, and we’d just come from Descent. The club would be open for a couple more hours, but would we get back there in time? Even though Fane was a vampire and our only suspect right now, I believed his story. Someone else was killing the mages, just after they visited Fane in the club. If another mage went to Descent tonight, would he make it out alive?

  Chapter 22

  We tried warning the manager on the way, but none of our calls got through. I didn’t expect them to, anyway. It was a busy Saturday night, and the place had been crammed with metal fans when we’d left. He was most likely up to his eyeballs in drinks. I’d worked enough hectic nights to know just how impossible it was to answer the phone when people were demanding another round every five seconds.

  “Right.” Laura sat up front for once, and she twisted in her seat to face me. “Here’s what we know so far. Fane Dogaru works at Descent because he needs some more horns. A group of blood mages walks into a bar, and he ends up overhearing them boasting about a plan to destroy every vampire on the planet, which…well, that’s a whole other can of worms I can’t think about right now.”

  Sighing, I patted her shoulder. Of all of us, the news that the Blood Hunter Coven was dead set on breaking the alliance was hitting her the hardest. Even though she hadn’t yet joined their ranks, I knew she’d been thinking about it. Right now, she was marked, but she was still a ship without a sail. While she’d grown up in the bone mage community, she wanted to join her own kind. She felt a loyalty to them that I could never understand myself, because I felt no such thing toward the Shadows.