Powers of Detection

Powers of Detection Page 6

by Dana Stabenow

  So what happened last night that ended with three men being hacked to pieces, resulting in a room now redecorated in a blood-and-gore motif?

  And why did I think hacked? Using Craft and the power that makes the Blood who and what we are, a person could do just as much damage to a human body. But something in the room whispered to me that this was . . . not personal, exactly, but definitely a hands-on killing. There was a lingering sense of fury and hatred here.

  I know those feelings well, and my past contained rooms just as messy. But there was something else here that I almost recognized but couldn’t quite name.

  Of course, that could have been nothing more than annoyance with myself for being at the scene. If I’d stayed home this morning, I would have been tucking into breakfast right now. But I’d gone for a walk and ended up at this establishment because they serve a fine breakfast—and because this place was the closest thing to a Red Moon house in Kaeleer. So I’d come here to take a look at my past, which had contributed to my recently failed romance.

  The Blood have a saying: Everything has a price. The price for my first attempt at a physical relationship with a man where money didn’t change hands was a bruised heart. Funny how the heart gets bruised when someone tells you you’re not what he wants—even when you already know he’s not what you want either.

  But there’s nothing like a bit of slaughter to take a person’s mind off her own problems.

  Using Craft, I stepped up on air so that I was standing a handspan above the carpet. I walked into the room. Three male bodies were splattered over the carpet, the walls, the furniture, and the painted screen that turned one corner of the room into a private area. I assumed there were only three because I found three left hands—and I found other body parts in triplicate.

  “Lady Surreal?”

  As I turned toward the doorway, I lowered my right hand and called in my favorite stiletto, using Craft to keep it sight shielded so it wouldn’t be obvious I had a weapon ready. A moment later, when I recognized the man in the doorway, I vanished the stiletto.

  “Prince Rainier.”

  Rainier was an Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince from Dharo, another Territory in Kaeleer. I’d seen him a few weeks ago at a party here in Amdarh and, more recently, enjoyed dancing with him at a family wedding. I’d also noticed him in the dining room this morning, reading a book while he ate breakfast. A fine-looking man with a dancer’s build, fair skin, dreamy green eyes, and a mane of brown hair, he stood out in Dhemlan’s capital city, where the residents had the common coloring of light-brown skin, black hair, and gold eyes. Which was, actually, the common coloring of all three of the long-lived races.

  Being half-Hayllian, I had the black hair and light-brown skin, but my eyes were gold-green and my ears came to delicate points—the legacy of my mother’s people. I was also a Gray-Jeweled witch, so my power was darker and deeper than his. That didn’t mean I could afford to be careless. Warlord Princes were natural predators and also very protective. That should have been a contradiction, but it wasn’t; it just made them extremely lethal.

  “Why did they ask you to see this?” Rainier said as he looked behind the painted screen. He paled, and I didn’t imagine his breakfast was sitting well, but when he moved away from the screen, he studied the room with a hunter’s eyes.

  “Maybe because I wear the Gray,” I replied, shrugging. Or maybe because the owners of this place had heard a few things about me and wanted my professional opinion. “And you?”

  Grief tightened his face. “I had an appointment here after breakfast.”

  Here. Not just in this establishment, but here. “You knew them.”

  “If these are the same young men who reserved this room, then, yes, I knew them.”

  “What were they doing?”

  “A weekly lesson. I was hired as a secondary instructor.”

  It was better not to ask about that while I was still in this room.

  “They didn’t deserve this,” Rainier said quietly.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” His voice sharpened. Everything about him sharpened.

  I nodded and looked around again. He knew these men; I didn’t. “So. Three men were killed for no apparent reason. If there wasn’t a reason, there wasn’t a payment. Which means no one hired a professional to get rid of them.”

  “A professional? You mean an assassin? How do you know it wasn’t?”

  “Because I am a professional. Was a professional.” I shrugged. “There’s not much call for assassins in Kaeleer.”

  “I’d heard—” He fumbled, belatedly remembering that I was related to the most powerful Warlord Princes in the Realm of Kaeleer.

  “That I was a whore? I was that, too. You could say one career led to the other.”

  Wariness in his eyes now.

  “I didn’t kill them,” I said. “If I had, I would have done a better job of it. Let’s go. There’s nothing more to do here.”

  He was under no obligation to go with me, but he followed me out of the room, stayed with me while I talked to the owners, and made suggestions about who they should talk to in the Queen of Amdarh’s court to report this incident.

  When I left the building, he went with me, walking on my left—a signal to everyone who saw us that I was the dominant party. As a Warlord Prince, he belonged to a higher caste than I, a mere witch, did. But my Gray Jewels outranked his Opal. In the knife-edged game of power the Blood play on a daily basis, which of us held the high card in terms of authority could change in the blink of an eye.

  I turned a corner, heading away from the theater district with its playhouses and music halls. Those streets would be quiet at this time of day. I wanted the bustle of people and the distraction of shops.

  Even this early in the morning, there were plenty of people in the shop district, plenty of faces . . .

  “We didn’t find their heads.”

  “They were behind the screen,” Rainier replied grimly.

  “Damn. It might have helped to see what they’d looked like.” Might have given me a clue about why the murder had happened. Of course, I could have used a clue about why I was still chewing over this. I’d made a good living killing men. I should have been able to shrug these deaths off. I couldn’t—because something just wasn’t right about the kills.

  “It wouldn’t have helped,” Rainier said. “Their faces were burned past recognition.” He paused, then added, “Witchfire.”

  Knowing how fiercely witchfire can burn, I swallowed hard, glad I hadn’t managed to get breakfast. Did make me reassess my companion’s nerves, though. He’d looked at those faces and had kept his breakfast down.

  “So, what kind of lessons were they getting?” Maybe knowing why the men had been in that room would help me figure out why they died.

  “Sex,” Rainier replied.

  I stopped walking. People flowed around us. “How many women?” I could feel my blood chilling, feel the old rage rising.

  He looked puzzled. “One.”

  Some of those messy rooms in my past had occurred when the males had thought the odds were in their favor for rough sex without the female’s consent. They learned how deep and pure female rage can be. Of course, they died learning it, so the lesson didn’t do them much good.

  Rainier shook his head. “It’s instruction, Surreal. Frank discussion about what a woman wants from a lover. Some demonstration.”

  “Demonstration.” Maybe the little bastards had gotten exactly what they deserved.

 
; Rainier took my left hand in his right and lifted it, his eyes never leaving mine. His lips, warm and soft, surrounded one knuckle. The tip of his tongue stroked my skin.

  A sweet, unexpected feeling flowed through me, banishing anger.

  He released my hand, and said quietly, “Demonstration.”

  Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. He must have been a dedicated student when he’d been learning those lessons. I had to clear my throat in order to get my voice back. “So.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  His smile was pure male as he took my arm and started walking again.

  “Understanding what pleases is just as important in a man’s personal life as it is if he serves in a court,” Rainier said.

  Hard to argue, since that little demonstration made me feel deliciously female and desirable. But it also plucked at the edgy, uneasy feeling I’d had in the room, so I looked for something else to talk about—and stopped walking half a block from a corner.

  “What’s he doing?” The boy was shepherding females from one side of the street to the other. That was obvious. Why he was doing it wasn’t.

  “Who?” Rainier looked around, then grinned. “Oh. He’s training. Since there are two boys about the same age at the other corners, their instructor is probably sitting in that coffee shop across the street, keeping an eye on them.”

  Things were different in Kaeleer, but . . . “You train males to be a pain in the ass?”

  “We train them to serve.”

  “That’s what I said.” My comment annoyed him. I didn’t care. If he spent one day on the receiving end of that kind of stubborn attention, he’d have a totally different opinion about a male’s right to serve.

  Then my stomach growled.

  Rainier studied me. “Would you like to go to the coffee shop? They don’t serve meals there, but they do have baked goods.”

  “Fine.” I stepped away from him. “I’ll meet you there.”

  “Surreal.”

  I heard the warning in his voice, but I ignored it and walked to the corner. I’d noticed the boy stepped aside if a woman already had a male escort, and I was curious.

  A cute puppy, all bright-eyed and eager. A little Yellow-Jeweled Warlord. A miniature man. His eyes widened when he saw my Gray Jewel, but he took a deep breath and smiled.

  “May I be of service, Lady?” he asked.

  Protocol. Specific phrases that had specific answers. Protocol balanced power, giving the weaker among the Blood a safe way to deal with the stronger.

  “I’m going to the coffee shop across the street,” I replied.

  “Then I will escort you, if it pleases you.”

  I held out my left hand. He slipped his right hand beneath it, checked the street to make sure no horse-drawn carriages or Craft-driven coaches were approaching the crossing, then led me across the street.

  “Thank you, Warlord,” I said when I had been safely delivered to the door of the coffee shop.

  “It was my pleasure, Lady.”

  And it was. I could see it in his eyes. There would be bitches who would bruise his ego, dim the pleasure in those eyes. There would be many, many more witches who would gently reinforce his training, confirming his place in the world as a man worthy of courtesy and consideration, a man valued for who and what he was.

  While I waited for Rainier to join me, I watched the boy escort two young witches across the side street. He continued up the street with them past three shops before one of the women murmured something—obviously a reminder that his duty was completed, since he stopped and turned back. As he passed the alley between two of the buildings, he hesitated, took a step closer toward that shadowy place that would put him out of sight.

  Edgy. Uneasy.

  He was almost at the mouth of the alley.

  Something wrong.

  Using Craft to enhance my voice, I bellowed, “Warlord! Here! Now!”

  As I ran across the street, I began to appreciate the value of training. The boy didn’t hesitate. He spun at the sound of my voice and ran away from the alley just as something reached out to grab him. Something sight shielded. I couldn’t see it, and yet I could see it, like an afterimage that remains on your eyelids after you close your eyes. A robed arm. A gloved hand. Reaching for the boy.

  As he ran past me, I grabbed a fistful of his shirt and swung him behind me, throwing a Gray shield around both of us at the same time I called in a hunting knife—a big knife with a wickedly honed blade. I probed the alley with my psychic senses. No one there anymore, but I picked up a hint of the same fury and hatred that I’d sensed in that room.

  “Stay here.” I released the boy but kept a Gray shield around him as I moved toward the alley. Into the alley.

  Female. I was certain of that now. Definitely a witch skilled in her Craft.

  “Everything has a price, bitch,” I said softly, even though I knew she was gone. “Maybe you had a reason to go after the men—or thought you did. But not the boy. Not a child. Everything has a price—and when I catch up to you, and I will, I’ll show you how to paint the walls in blood.”

  “Surreal?”

  A light psychic touch, full of strength and temper. Rainier at the mouth of the alley, guarding my back.

  I backed out of the alley, staying alert in case the bitch was skilled enough to hide her presence. I didn’t turn away until Rainier’s fingers brushed my shoulder. As I turned to face the street, I got my next lesson in how well Blood males are trained in Kaeleer.

  There were hard-eyed, grim-faced men everywhere. A female had yelled on a public street. It didn’t matter that it had been a command and not a cry of fear or distress. A female had yelled—and they’d responded. They’d poured out of the shops, out of the carriages and coaches. Whatever had upset the female was going to be fixed. Now.

  Which explained why assassins weren’t needed in Kaeleer.

  Protocol was the only tool I had—especially since the Warlord Prince standing beside me had risen to the killing edge to become a living weapon.

  Using Craft again to enhance my voice, I said, “Thank you for your attention, gentlemen. There is nothing more to be done here.” I raised the hunting knife, so the men who could see me couldn’t fail to notice it. Then I vanished it and lowered my hand.

  I waited, hardly daring to breathe until I saw the men in front of me relax. Communication on psychic threads rippled over the street. Men returned to their carriages and coaches, to the shops or interrupted meals.

  I heard Rainier release a slow breath as he worked to step back from the killing edge.

  When the boy’s instructor joined us, I released the Gray shield I had put around the little Warlord. The puppy couldn’t tell us more than a lady had called to him, asking for help. He’d hesitated because he couldn’t see her, and she’d sounded . . . strange.

  She hadn’t been able to mask her hatred. It must have bled into her voice. And it was going to piss her off that her prey had escaped. Which meant another man was going to die.

  After the instructor bundled his students into a carriage and drove away, Rainier wrapped a hand around my arm.

  “You need something to eat,” he growled.

  I did, but I heard “I’m going to fuss over you” in that growl, and I really didn’t want to be fussed over. “Don’t worry about it, sugar. I can—”

  His fingers tightened. “Lady, let me serve or point me toward something I can kill.”

  Shit shit shit. Warlord Princes rose to the killing edge in a heartbeat, but they couldn’t always come back from it on their ow
n. You either pointed them to a killing field or gave them something else to focus on—which usually meant a female they could fuss over and look after for a while.

  “I could use a meal.” I shook off his hand, saw the temper in his eyes chill, and immediately linked my arm through his to give him the contact he needed. We walked for several minutes before he chose a dining house that had a small courtyard in the back for guests who wanted to eat outdoors.

  I don’t know what passed between Rainier and the Warlord waiting on the tables in the courtyard. We weren’t asked what we wanted to eat—I wasn’t, anyway—but I’d barely settled in my chair when coffee, glasses of red wine, and a basket of bread appeared on the table. That was swiftly followed by bowls of greens that were delicately dressed, thick steaks, vegetables, and some kind of casserole made of potatoes, onions, and sausage. The meal lasted long enough for the wild look to fade in Rainier’s eyes—and for me to reach a few conclusions.

  I leaned back in my chair. “There’s a killer out there.” Which pretty much described anyone who was Blood, but I was making a distinction between the potential in all of us and someone using that potential.

  Temper flared in Rainier’s eyes. “There was no reason to go for that boy.”

  “Sugar, I don’t think reason has much to do with this.”

  He frowned. “You think this killer is a witch who has slipped into the Twisted Kingdom?”

  I didn’t think she was insane in the way he meant, but hate can be its own kind of madness.

  He sighed. “Then we have to find her and give her what help we can.”

  “No, we have to find her and kill her.”

  “But—”

  “No.” I studied him. “You didn’t sense anything in that room or in the alley, did you?”

  He shook his head.

  “I did. Maybe it’s because I’m . . . familiar . . . with what I felt that I was able to sense it at all.”

  Rainier swirled the wine left in his glass. “What kind of men did you kill, Surreal?”

 

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