Deadly Design

by Brandy L Rivers

  There were a limited number of mages she trusted. At least Erik could pass as one most of the time. Only when the spirits overwhelmed him could you tell he was anything other than a mage.

  Monique could do a little magic beyond enchanting, but she was closer to a witch without much power. Now her enchantments were something special, but her kind were often frowned upon by the mages, especially after the LaPorsche family accused them of killing their clients, when in reality, the mages wanted to stomp out the competition.

  Monique’s brow cocked. “If they haven’t learned by now, they never will.”

  He flexed his hands, turning to stare into her eyes. “Some may never change their minds. But if we don’t try, they’ll never alter their opinions.”

  “True, but they don’t deserve you.”

  Erik rolled his eyes and walked to the door.

  She stared at him a long moment. There was a time she believed that. Then the trial, and her mother’s death, and eventually Erik being expelled from the Silver Council because of someone else’s crimes. Somewhere, she forgot why Erik chose to support the Silver Council.

  “Shit,” she muttered, chasing after him.

  Preston smirked. “You two should have hooked back up long ago. We don’t have time to waste on lover’s squabbles. It’s going to take some effort to clear you.”

  Monique took a breath and made a suggestion she might regret later. “We should see Consuela first.”

  Preston nodded. “Most likely. If someone’s setting Erik up, they may compromise the crime scene. This way we have two key witnesses and the alibi with us.”

  Robert turned to Monique. “Do you understand the process of getting the location from you?”

  She smiled slightly. “You’ll touch me, and go into my head. It’s easier if I focus on where we’re going. And considering her home is protected by wards that make it hard to find, this is better than an address.”

  “Do I have your permission?”

  “You’re one of the few Silver Council members I trust.” She nodded to Preston. “You too.”

  Robert held out his arms and everyone touched him. Next thing she knew they were standing before a large Victorian home in the Garden District.

  Erik shuddered beside her. “The spirits are loud,” he whispered when she slipped her hand into his.

  “She is a voodoo priestess,” Monique offered with a nod in the direction of the door.

  * * * *

  Buzzing started the second they appeared on the sidewalk. Erik could hardly stand the swarm of the dead. It was why he avoided New Orleans. So many séances and cemetery tours drew overly active spirits.

  He followed Robert, Preston, and Monique to the door, wishing like hell he could escape the whispers and cries for attention from ghosts and other spirits.

  A woman stepped onto the porch. Her pink tinged blue eyes locked on Erik’s and a smile pulled the corners of her full mouth into a grin. Her kinky pale hair shone in the light and her skin was pale as alabaster. Albino and beautiful. Her power rolled off her in unfettered waves. The spirits quieted in her wake.

  That was a skill he’d like to learn.

  “Erik Mortale. I’ve heard rumors of your power, but I never believed your gift was so strong.”

  Monique smiled. “Did you think I lied?”

  She shook her head. “No, but I assumed you didn’t grasp what you spoke of. Most never truly understand our gifts. And after that day I called your mother, I wasn’t sure he was able.”

  Erik pushed down every question that rolled to the forefront. He still wondered what happened to Vivian’s spirit, but he wasn’t about to ask because the last time he saw the hateful woman was the day Monique came home for the funeral.

  The residual energy from both death and blood magic permeated the property. He was willing to bet her boundaries were stretched further than his own. That wasn’t necessarily wrong, but there were dangers in exploring their abilities. Things could be conjured that couldn’t be controlled by a Deathcaller.

  Erik offered a strained smile. The dead pressed in from behind like he was a shield. Fear. Every last one feared the woman before him. He tempered his curiosity. If he gave into it, the spirits would spill their secrets, and hundreds gathered around him.

  He’d much prefer to go home, to his own bed, and forget the insanity from the morning. Not that anyone was about to let him.

  Later, he would ask Monique exactly how well she knew this woman. There were so many stories he didn’t know what to believe. And now, those rumors seemed very possible.

  If even a fraction of the rumors were true, then the dead had every right to fear the self-proclaimed voodoo priestess.

  Forcing his personal issues aside, he held out his hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”

  She took his hand, her silken fingers ice cold. A chill traveled through his being as she tested his strength. A game he never played because strength came in many forms and pushing power was a poor measure of what lurked in the caster.

  He wanted to tell Robert this wasn’t going to work. Not the way he wanted. It was a well-known fact that Consuela wanted a seat among the Council. She wanted the diversification of power to expand beyond that of the special forces team that aided the enforcers.

  Where he agreed with spreading the power, he didn’t trust her not to abuse her position. Her public argument consisted of the fact mages often saw things in shaded light and never took in the whole picture. An unfortunate truth, but he suspected an ulterior motive spurred her on.

  “Pleasure is mine, Erik.” She looked over his shoulder. “And good day, Robert McCallister and Preston Emrys. What brings you to my door?”

  Monique chimed in, “We need your help. Erik has joined the Diverse Special Forces again, and someone is trying to frame him for a ritualistic murder. We want your help to prove necromancy wasn’t involved.”

  “Something Mr. Mortale is perfectly capable of.”

  “Yes,” Robert agreed. “However, using him as our only authority on the matter would be detrimental to our cause. We’re asking for your help to clear him, which would show the Council more casters want to help, not impede the goal of keeping humans from another witch hunt. I understand you’re interested in joining the Council, but so far have been shut down. Perhaps we could help you be heard.”

  Erik held the mask of a pleasant smile, though his suspicions churned. How much did Monique understand about Consuela Bordeaux? Was she hindering the council, or actually helping?

  One more reason to question her sudden interest in him. Perhaps their relationship had always been doomed.

  Consuela’s brow arched as she turned to Erik. “I’ll help a fellow Deathcaller. Not strictly for the Silver Council, but because I do think what you are doing with the DSF is a step in the right direction, and I would hate to see it fall apart because some mage is so insecure in his or her place within the organization they would destroy the hard work to diversify.”

  “Thank you. I’ll translocate us back to the scene of the crime. We’ll record our findings. Preston and I will take you back to the Seattle Headquarters to ask some questions, then I will return you home.”

  Consuela smiled pleasantly. “Come in. Allow me to change, and we can go. Business attire seems to be the better choice for this visit.”

  Preston glanced down at his jeans and T-shirt with a shrug. “It’s a bloody mess at the home. I wouldn’t worry about anything too fancy.”

  She smiled. “Blood is not an issue for me.” She stepped inside, swinging the door wide.

  The place gave Erik the creeps. Not a speck of dust in the great room. The walls were white, the floor pale marble, and the furniture black. The stark contrast was nearly unnerving like the whispering voices that swirled through the otherwise silent home. He was the only one to hear them—besides the woman upstairs changing.

  Usually only public places were so crowded.

  Monique sli
d her fingers through his and squeezed. Erik looked over and was captured in her dark eyes. “This will work,” she whispered.

  If only she understood the severity of the situation. Monique’s contacts were scattered across the board. She designed and enchanted clothing for all types of Others. She rarely paid much attention to what her customers were, or how they used their abilities. He had to wonder how much she knew about Consuela.

  Preston shot a curious glance up the stairs. He’d worked with the mage many times and knew he had his own concerns about Consuela.

  If he weren’t worried what the dead would relay, he’d ask. That could wait until she was back home and he was in Edenton again.

  * * * *

  Monique started to doubt her decision to bring them to Consuela. As a loyal client with aspirations to join the Silver Council, she seemed the best option.

  After Erik’s reaction to the woman, the mistake was clear. He radiated tension, showing the strain of blocking out spirits. She’d forgotten how much he hated New Orleans, the city of the dead. Though he once admitted he’d been to one place worse.

  Preston acted squirrely as well.

  Stupid damned idea, Mon. Why not Nigel? Oh right, because I tried a relationship with him and he hates the Council.

  Robert took everything in, but as always, he appeared the perfect gentleman. He rarely showed emotion when he was working. The only nervous ticks she knew of were the way he straightened his tailored suits, or picked off invisible lint, but he wasn’t doing either of those things.

  Shit, maybe Nigel was the better option. As awkward as going to him would be, he gave off less creepy vibes. No ridiculous rumors surrounded him. The biggest problem would have been getting him to help the Silver Council.

  Consuela entered the room. Her eyes were drawn to Monique’s and Erik’s joined hands. One corner of her red lips pulled up in a smile. “Seems you finally let go of your mother’s ridiculous notions,” Consuela murmured.

  Erik met Monique’s gaze. Questions danced through his eyes. She squeezed his hand and looked back at the woman she’d known for years, but didn’t truly understand.

  Her hair was now twisted into a knot, her business suit pristine white. It looked good on her, and though the outfit was beautiful, it seemed like an armor made of ice. Not how she intended the design at all.

  Ignoring the niggling intuition, Monique turned to Robert. “Shall we?”

  He nodded, reaching out to touch Consuela’s shoulder while everyone else grabbed his arms.

  They appeared in a blood bath. Literally. The carpet squished with every movement. There was no way to avoid contaminating the scene. Luckily magic made it easier to recreate what precisely happened.

  Copper and death filled her nose and mouth. She forced herself to examine the area closer. There were at least a dozen bodies dismantled and sorted into body parts. Organs in piles by types, limbs in another, torsos, and heads.

  Monique gagged. Erik’s hand rubbed up and down her back. She relished the comfort he offered. His warmth chased away the chill.

  Consuela took a slow look around, a slight smile on her face. “There is no death magic here. This was a slaughter.”

  Erik nodded grimly. “What made Tarek believe this may be ritualistic?”

  Preston sighed heavily. “He claimed the slaughter was to fuel the ritual upstairs. Though that hardly makes sense from everything I’ve learned about death rituals.”

  Consuela’s brow arched. “What do you think you know?”

  “I’ve done the research. May not be the same as witnessing all you have, though I’ve never come across a spell that required the slaughter of more than a single person.”

  She smiled. “Not for death magic, though there are dark spells that feed off death.”

  Preston’s pale blue eyes grew stony as he stared back. “Exactly, but that’s not the same as death rituals, which is what Erik was accused of.”

  She crossed her arms under her breasts. “Why am I here if you’re all so knowledgeable?”

  Robert answered, “To show the Council there are other casters who would work with us. We’re on the same side, or should be. My goal is to unify casters, not rule over them. Working side by side benefits all of us.”

  “Admirable goals.” She took another look around and nodded at the stairs. “Shall we?”

  “Of course,” Robert answered, leading the way.

  Erik’s brow cocked as he met Monique’s gaze.

  Swallowing down the nausea, she pulled Erik toward the stairs.

  Monique braced herself for something even more gruesome.

  She stepped into the master suite and froze.

  Erik’s hands curled around her waist as his body pressed against hers. “I’m right here,” he whispered.

  His voice chased away some of the fear. Though the nightmare before her would forever be etched into her memory.

  Chapter 19

  Erik ran into Monique where she froze one step into the master bedroom. Her whole body trembled as she stared at the scene. He cursed himself for not requesting that Monique stay home.

  At least the hall was untouched by the gruesome acts. Gently, he turned and caught her face, looking deep into her eyes. “Go to the end of the hall and stand there, please.”

  Monique blinked and slipped past him. He stepped out to watch her go as far from the bedroom as she could. She leaned against the wall squeezing her eyes shut while wrapping her arms around her body.

  He wanted to comfort her, but with the accusation and Consuela feeding off death and blood, he needed to focus and take care of Monique later.

  Blood had splattered on Consuela’s ankles, and he’d watched as she absorbed the blood into her pale skin. She was far more than just a medium, necromancer, or even voodoo priestess. Even if all of that were true, she was something more. A Crimson Witch. The last he heard of one was Desire, the lead singer of Red Queen, who was killed for targeting the wrong werewolves.

  Of course, being something rare wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. However, he knew of no benign Crimson Witches throughout history. And the woman gave off enough creep factor to make even the least sensitive wary. Not to mention the dead seemed to flee from her.

  Back in the room, he took in the scene. There was a naked, short, barrel-chested man stretched across the window like a crucifixion. Balding, the remainder of his hair white. Each wrist had a stake driven through on either side of the window. His ankles were crossed and staked in the same fashion. Symbols were burned into his flesh.

  Decorative symbols. Nothing arcane about them. Some sinister prankster? Or someone who wanted it to look intricate. Either way, there was no trace of dark magic.

  The window on the opposite side had a woman, approximately the same age, pinned the same way. Her steel gray hair was styled. Someone had caressed her cheek with a blood-coated hand. Fingers were pushed through her stiff hair, leaving trails of blood.

  The woman’s spirit tore free of the body, falling at his feet, clinging to his legs. “Make it stop. I’m still burning.”

  He crouched down to look into the woman’s eyes. “No more burning. Your body is dead.”

  Preston stepped in front of him with a pinched brow. “They’re talking to you?”

  Erik tipped his head to the woman’s body. “She is.” He dropped his gaze to the woman. “What happened?”

  “Three scary men. They hissed strange words as they tore our clothes off.” A sob burst out of her. “They nailed us to the wall.” She glanced back, then buried her face against his shoulder, clinging to him. “The magic, it burned. My insides were on fire.”

  Cold seeped in where the ghost touched him. That usually only happened when the spirit hadn’t caught onto the fact they were dead and without a solid form. “What did they look like?” Erik asked.

  “Dark clothes. Hooded. The leader, he had gold eyes. They burned with magic. His freckles...” She shuddered. “Th
ey sparkled—like glitter—every time he chanted more words.”

  Erik addressed Preston. “Tarek cast the spells.”

  “What did she say?” Robert asked.

  Consuela rolled her eyes with a sigh. “This is easier.” She threw her arms out, chanting. The woman at Erik’s feet was yanked back into her body. Her cloudy blue eyes flew open. “No, please. Stop!” she wailed.

  Erik gritted his teeth. “We could have simply asked the spirits. This is cruel. Forcing the dead to relive the events that tore them from life. We won’t see everything that happened, just hear their tortured screams.”

  Robert cast a spell, forming an orb that took in the scene, while Preston chanted his own. A transparent scene formed. The dead’s voices echoed from their bodies and from the magic of the recreated scene, creating an eerie echo. The mages sounded dull, far away.

  Three men stripped the couple in their bed, then dragged them to the windows. Tarek lifted his hands and flung them forward. The woman was slammed into place on the left, her husband on the right window. The other two nailed the couple in place.

  He recognized one of the mages as Donelle Churchwright. Another mage who had been rejected from the enforcers for questionable conduct in an interrogation.

  The third mage, he didn’t recognize but that didn’t mean much.

  Erik shook his head as Tarek crossed the room to the woman. His index finger lit up in a flame. He drew the markings into her body while the other two focused on the man.

  The screams were nearly intolerable. The scene gruesome. The act was cruel and served no purpose. Other than to frame a necromancer, but anyone with any knowledge should know this wasn’t an act of necromancy.

  Erik stood, considering his options. The entire murder was recorded. They had more than enough proof three known mages performed the killing, though not why. He wanted to end the charade, but hoped to glean enough information to find out who put Tarek up to such a gruesome scene.