Witches Can't Fly

by Nova Archer

  Sliding the thermometer in, Givon read the gauge. “According to liver temp, she’s been dead from four to eight hours.” He took it out and gestured to the victim’s stiffening arms. “Rigor is settling in.”

  “I was here maybe three hours ago,” Lyra interjected.

  Givon frowned. “Are you positive?”

  Lyra nodded.

  “Then, I’m leaning more towards the three as livor mortis is almost fixed along her legs and buttocks where she’s been sitting.”

  Caine locked eyes with Lyra. He knew she had been here following a lead, but she hadn’t had the chance to tell him what she had learned from Claire. Despite the lapse, Lyra knew exactly what Caine was thinking. This was another warning—to her.

  She heard it loud and clear.

  The witch had died horribly because the killer thought she had told Lyra something. It made her sick to her stomach.

  The woman had died for no reason.

  As she followed Caine’s orders and snapped pictures of the various objects around Claire’s office. Nothing seemed out of place. The drawers of her desk were closed. Testing the middle, she found it locked. It didn’t appear as if the killer had been looking for anything.

  Except for what he achieved in the witch’s murder.

  “What exactly did the victim tell you, Lyra?” Caine asked, as he examined the wound in the body’s abdomen.

  “She established that this was probably the last place Lori James was before she died. And that Lori bought some items that could be used in demon summoning, and she left in a dark-colored sedan. Someone else had been driving.”

  Caine nodded. “That establishes a timeline and that Lori could be involved in the other demon summoning ceremonies.”

  “That definitely puts more suspicion on Nadja Devanshi,” Eve added. “She lied about knowing Lori and she owns a black Mercedes.”

  “Yeah, but we’re still missing something,” Caine said as he looked up from inspecting the body. “It doesn’t all add up.”

  Lyra continued to search around the room, her eyes on the floor. That was when she spied a corner of a white paper peeking out from under the desk. Crouching down, she slowly dragged it out with the tip of her gloved finger.

  Her name was scrawled across the small envelope in black ink.

  Glancing behind her, she made sure that both Caine and Eve were looking elsewhere, as she scooped up the envelope and opened it. Inside, was a message to her, scrawled in shaky handwriting. Lyra, it comes for you on your day.

  “Lyra, did you find something?” Caine asked.

  Standing, she showed him the note.

  Without comment, he glanced at it then nodded. “Bag it and tag it.” Then went back to work.

  For another hour, the three of them processed the scene, staying until the medical examiner’s office bagged the body and put it into the ambulance to be taken to Givon’s freshly cleaned office back at the lab. So far, since the morgue hadn’t been damaged, he’d been the only one able to get back into his old digs. The other areas were still being picked over and cleaned.

  Stripping off her gloves, Lyra moved into the shop away from the others. She needed privacy to register the warning in the note. Maybe it had nothing to do with this case and everything to do with this nagging feeling that something was up with Theron.

  After stripping off his gloves and shoving them into his crime scene vest pocket, Caine walked over to her. She could see on his face that what he was going to say to her, she wasn’t going to like one bit.

  “I can’t let you leave here on your own, Lyra. I’m assigning you a bodyguard.”

  “Don’t you think you’re being irrational?”

  Caine eyed her. “You think I’m being irrational? Who’s calling the kettle black here?”

  She swallowed knowing full well what he was referring to. The evidence bag in her kit ticked like a time bomb. “I can certainly see the point of police protection, but a bodyguard? I don’t need someone following me around all the time.”

  “Yes you do,” he said firmly. “Don’t you get it? The killer didn’t come here because the victim knew too much. The killer came here because he was following you.”

  “You don’t know that for sure?”

  “Don’t I?” He arched that damn brow of his again. She hated that smug look of his as if he knew everything. The fact that he had acute powers of reason and deduction didn’t matter to her. He had to be wrong. Had to. She couldn’t live with herself knowing she brought this death to Claire.

  “What’s wrong with the police presence at my house?”

  “It’s not enough.” He gestured to the back room from where two techs were carrying out the body. “I think this attests to that fact.”

  She opened her mouth to protest again, when another voice sounded behind her.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Lyra swung around to see Theron standing behind her, his face stoic and unreadable.

  “The heck you will,” she stammered.

  He promptly ignored her and spoke to Caine. “I’ll stay with her. It makes sense anyway since we still have work to do on the book.”

  Frowning, Caine eyed him. “I’m trusting you with her life, Theron. Are you sure you’re up to the task?”

  “She’ll be safe with me. I can guarantee you that.”

  Caine nodded, then proceeded to exit the shop with Eve in tow.

  “Hey, no one asked me,” Lyra demanded.

  Theron faced her and frowned. She’d never seen him look so angry before. It was not a look she enjoyed seeing. “Stop being foolish, Lyra. My presence may save your life.” Lifting his chin, he turned toward the door. “I’ll be waiting outside for you. We can have a proper dinner this time at your home.”

  Shocked, Lyra watched him open the door and step outside. Her shock soon turned to anger. Pushing up her sleeves, she gripped her kit tight and moved to the door. Fury simmered at the surface of her skin. Fear did that to her.

  “Yeah, but who’s going to save yours,” she mumbled.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Nerves humming, Lyra unlocked the front door of her house and let Theron inside. She’d had only two other men in her house—her last boyfriend, after four months of dating, and Caine. And she’d never let either one of them near her bedroom. Not that she was thinking about letting Theron in that room, either.

  She watched in anticipation as he surveyed the living room, his hands clasped together. Why his opinion mattered was beyond her, but it did. She didn’t want him to think her uptight or anal retentive with the way everything in her place was neat, tidy and organized. She liked order and couldn’t stand it when everything was in disarray. It threw her off balance. She couldn’t think when she was like that.

  Like the way Theron was making her feel right now, touching her things.

  He turned from inspecting a vivid water-coloring painting of Lyra among a field of flowers. “Pretty.” He smiled. “It suits you.”

  The compliment warmed her cheeks and other parts of her anatomy. “My grandmother painted it.”

  “Eleanore had many talents.”

  “Did you know my gran?” She asked, her interest piqued by the way he had arched a brow at her name.

  He shook his head. “Not personally. I was barely coming into my own magic, when I heard she had died. I was a late bloomer. But my mother talked of her fondly. Her greatness was well known, even from across the ocean.”

  “Yes, she was a great woman,” Lyra agreed.

  Still am.

  Lyra smiled at her gran’s comment.

  Tilting his head, Theron regarded her intently. What was he looking for, she wondered? What did he see?

  Clearing her throat, she gestured to the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Wine, if you have it.”

  “I’m sorry I don’t. I don’t normally drink.”

  “Tea then.”

  In the kitchen, she filled the tea kettle and put it on the stove
. Taking out two cups, she dropped teabags inside them and waited for the water to boil.

  Having Theron in her house was going to take some getting used to. She could hear him pacing her room, inspecting the various items on her shelves and tables. And she could smell his intoxicating scent—a mixture of exotic spices and the outdoors. All witches had an earthy odor to them, but because of Theron’s vampiric genetics his smell was more potent. Sexual in nature.

  Lyra couldn’t help but take another deep breath. She closed her eyes as his delicious scent wrapped around her, coiling over her skin, permeating her pores. Sweet, rich and addicting. Would she ever get the fragrance out of her mind? She swayed as the kettle whistled. Her eyes snapped open and she shook her head to clear it. He shouldn’t be here. This close. It was too dangerous. Theron made her want things, sinfully delicious things.

  She poured the boiling water into the cups over the teabags, stirring each three times, before pulling the bags out. Lyra carried them into the living room where Theron had finally settled onto the sofa.

  Handing him the cup, she said, “I hope chamomile is okay.”

  “It’s perfect, thank you.” He took a sip then set his cup down on the coaster on the coffee table.

  As Lyra sipped the hot soothing liquid, she watched Theron over the rim. After what they’d already been through, drinking tea together seemed like such a ridiculously simple thing to engage in.

  Simple and Theron did not go together.

  Nothing had been simple since seeing him again. Not her job, not the case, not even her feelings. She’d been muddled since Nouveau-Monde, and she couldn’t seem to shake that strange sensation. No matter what she did. Having him in her home didn’t help matters, but she didn’t think that was going to change soon. She never saw him look so determined. She had a feeling the only way she’d be able to get away from him was with a complicated binding spell and an invisibility charm.

  He smiled at her again, humor lighting up his face. “You have the most expressive eyes, Lyra, of any woman I’ve met.”

  Blushing, she lowered her gaze onto the errant thread on her pants and tugged at it.

  “You’re not going to be able to get rid of me so easily with one of your binding spells.”

  “Am I that transparent?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “I don’t like to be boxed in and told what to do. It feels like a—,”

  “Cage,” he finished for her.

  She nodded.

  He reached for her hand and stilled her fidgeting. “I know how you feel, Lyra. Try living under a domineering vampire father.”

  She met his gaze and saw a flash of regret and pain cross his face. She hadn’t realized what his childhood might have been like with a powerful vampire for a father and a witch for a mother. It was no wonder that Theron had come off so haughty and refined when she had first met him. He had likely been raised to believe that his vampire side was better than his witch half. She imagined that his father probably taught him to loathe his witch side. She couldn’t imagine not liking a part of herself, especially such an important and powerful part.

  “Your father raised you?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Vampire children are hard to come by, so he made it his priority to raise me as one.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “Cecelia tried her best to exert some influence on me, but Lucien, he is not a man that allows anyone else to have power, especially over him.” He smiled without humor, picking up his tea and taking a sip. “Once I turned eighteen, I sought my mother out and began my magical training in secret.”

  “Did he ever find out?”

  “Oh yes, but once he discovered how powerful I had become and the uses for my magic, he had no problem with it at all.”

  Lyra could hear the derision in his voice and decided not to press him any further. It was obvious he possessed some animosity toward his father, and rightly so.

  “I think my stomach is growling. How ‘bout we eat?” Lyra said changing the subject. After setting her cup on the table she jumped up and marched into the kitchen.

  “Yes, I am a bit hungry as well,” Theron said.

  Lyra opened her refrigerator, now just remembering she didn’t have any food.

  Why did it all of sudden feel hot in here? Lyra’s palms were sweating and she wanted to wipe her mouth where she was sure there was sweat beading on her top lip. She was hungry too, but maybe, like Theron, for more than just food.

  “Ah, I forgot that I haven’t been shopping since returning from France, so there’s nothing in the fridge to cook.” She moved past him to grab the phone. “How about takeout? Do you like Thai?”

  He reached for the refrigerator and opened the door. “You’d be surprised what kind of delicious meal I can create out of virtually nothing.”

  “I’ll just order in, Theron. You don’t need to cook.”

  “I want to,” he said as he plunked the bag of celery and a half jar of tomato sauce onto the counter. “It relaxes me.”

  Amused, and a little bit touched, she watched as he rummaged through her cupboards then came away with a box of macaroni and cheese. He took out the cheese pack and set the box of noodles next to the pot he found in one of the other cupboards.

  When he swung around to look at her, she put her hand to her mouth to hide the smile blossoming on her face. His eyes danced, and the corners of his beautiful mouth twitched.

  “You must have a garden, Lyra. No upstanding witch is without one.”

  “Yes, I have one.”

  “Good. You are in charge of collecting whatever is ripe. We can’t have this delicious pasta,” he picked up the box of macaroni, “without our vegetables, now can we?”

  “No, we certainly can’t.”

  Laughing and feeling lighter than she had in more months than she could count, Lyra slid open the balcony door and wandered down to her small greenhouse. A man she was starting to really like was making her dinner. She found the situation surreal, but it didn’t stop the warm sensation growing in her heart.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  While they cooked dinner together, Theron couldn’t take his eyes off Lyra. After returning from the garden with red peppers, carrots, and snow peas, she chopped them up and sautéed them in a light olive oil. She had this very subtly feminine way of moving that made his heart pick up a beat and his groin twitch to the rhythm.

  Oblivious to her own womanly power, Lyra was the most sensual being he’d ever encountered.

  They made small talk as they put the simple dish together, comparing herbs they used, and foods they utilized to make healing tinctures and potions. For the first time since arriving in Necropolis, Theron felt comfortable and relaxed. Unguarded. There was no ulterior motive to his actions as he boiled pasta and added spice to the tomato sauce. Usually, if he made dinner for a woman it was to seduce and entice—the ultimate goal of ending in bed together for a night of unbridled passion. But not this time, not with Lyra. His only motive was to feed her empty stomach and ease the troubled thoughts he knew she harbored.

  The case was taking its toll on her. He could see it in her eyes. She was afraid. And he didn’t think that was a common emotion for the little spitfire witch.

  They ate by candlelight at the small dining table. He knew Lyra didn’t light the jasmine-scented candles with any motive other to scent the air with a pleasing and relaxing scent. Yet he found the gesture very romantic.

  Having taken her last bite of food, Lyra set her fork down on the table and leaned back in her chair. “That was so good.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I am.” She chuckled. “Even though you do come across as a man with many talents.” She rose and grabbed her plate to take to the kitchen.

  From another woman, he would’ve taken that as a compliment or as an innuendo to his bedroom talents, but from Lyra it sounded full of amusement. Theron stood, taking the plate from her hand.

  She held firm. “I’ll take it
. It’s no problem.”

  “Lyra, let me do this small thing.”

  Maybe she finally sensed his eagerness to please her in some way because she let go of the plate and nodded. “Okay.”

  “Go and sit,” he suggested as he moved into the kitchen and set the dirty dishes by the sink. “Would you like more tea?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Theron returned to the living room with Lyra sitting on the sofa, his big book open on her lap. Her lips moved as she read the text, her index finger tracing the lines. He watched her mouth, remembering the kiss they’d shared. It had literally been electric. Still the sensation of her magic rolled over his skin like a current. He wondered if it would ever dissipate, even after he went back to France, back to his life. Did he even want it to?

  Taking the opportunity of her distraction, he settled on the cushions next to her. Careful not to bump her leg, he still sat close enough so he could inhale the stimulating scent of her floral perfume.

  “There’s this one part that’s really bugging me. I look at it and think I should know what it means, but I can’t seem to reason it out.”

  Theron glanced down at the passage and symbols she referred to. It was the part that he had already figured out, or thought he had. He knew she would figure it out eventually. She was a smart lady, but for now, he didn’t want her to worry, to fear. If he could keep that from her, he would.

  Sliding his hands under the book, he picked it up and snapped it closed. She flinched at the action.

  “No work right now.” He set the book onto the table.

  “Theron, it’s important that we figure that out.”

  “I know.” He turned so he was facing her. “Just give us another half hour to relax before we have to deal with the case again. A half hour, that’s all I ask.”

  She eyed him and he could see the wheels whirling in her mind, trying to decide what he was up to, and whether she liked it.

  “Okay.” Her gaze was scrutinizing, weary even, as she searched for his angle. He smiled because of it.