Blood Brothers (Turning Stone Chronicles Book 2)

by C. D. Hersh

  “We’re not,” she protested.

  “At least not now,” Harry added.

  “Dinna try tae deny it. ’Tis as visible as the overstretched udders of a milk cow at dawn. Dinna fash yerself ower it. ’Tis what it ’tis. Besides, even when ye drain the milk cow, she fills agin. Love ’tis a lot like that, and if I’m not mistaken, sae are the two o’ you.”

  Rhys and Alexi snickered, and Harry shot them a scowl, cutting their laughter off, at his expense, mid-snigger. He didn’t appreciate being compared to a swollen cow’s udder, especially by this old coot who seemed to have some kind of hold over Delaney, Rhys, and Alexi.

  Determined to wrangle his emotions into control, Harry struggled to his feet. Breathing deeply, he shoved his hands through his hair, and tried to order his thoughts. “Everything they did, all the shape changing, was caused by magic? No tricks? No projector? Magic?”

  “Aye,” Eli replied.

  Delaney, Rhys, and Alexi are shape shifters? Not the werewolf kind, but the kind who can change into other people? And they use magic?

  “Let’s say for the sake of argument I believe you. What kind of magic could do this? Do you have to be bitten or scratched by the were-whatever? Infected?” He tried to remember if Delaney had scratched him during their night of passion. He hoped not, because he didn’t want what they had.

  “Nae, ’tis not like that.”

  Delaney started to speak, but Eli motioned for her to be quiet. The old man stared silently, obviously giving him the time to absorb the information at his own pace.

  Then what was it? Was there a talisman? An enchantment? Some kind of spell? What did the four of them have in common to link them to shape shifting?

  He scrutinized each one, from head to toe. Then it hit him. They were all wearing the same ring. The same ring Alexi said was missing when they discovered her murdered uncle.

  All the crazy stuff going on at the precinct for the past few weeks was probably connected to this shape shifting hooey. Baron’s doppelganger who kept appearing after his death. The robbery cases they couldn’t solve after Baron’s ring had gone missing. Perps with airtight alibis.

  “Oh crap! There’s more than four of you. That’s why we couldn’t solve those crimes after Baron’s death, because they were committed by shifters.”

  Eli, Delaney, Rhys, and Alexi nodded. “But they weren’t committed by our kind, the good shifters,” Delaney said.

  Harry dropped his chin on his chest and sighed. A pain throbbed behind his eyes. Bad enough the woman he loved wasn’t the woman he thought he knew. Now he’d be wondering if anyone he met would be who they claimed. He exhaled in a huff. Good shifters implied bad ones. “How many?”

  They all looked to Eli, who answered. “Perhaps ’tis best if ye don’t get all the telling at one time. Suffice it tae say, we’re in a battle with the rogues that we must win, and we need all the guid people we can tae tip the scale in our favor.”

  “Then tell me who else I might know who’s a shifter. What about Katrina Romanovski?” he asked Delaney.

  “No,” Delaney said.

  “Anyone else I should know about?”

  Three sets of eyes focused on Eli again, who indicated they should continue.

  “Agent Riley,” Alexi said.

  “My two best cops, an FBI agent, and a Homeland Security agent.” He pinned Delaney with a glare. “Have you all got some kind of lock on high profile jobs?”

  She shook her head. “No. Some of us are lowly morticians.”

  “Like the one whose mortuary stuffed your daughter into an already occupied casket?” She paled, and he hastened to add, “Geez, I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me.”

  “Yes, it was,” she replied. “But it is the truth. Something I’m going to have to get used to.”

  “I’m probably going to have to slap the mortician’s butt into the slammer.”

  “Not without probable cause,” Rhys said.

  “You don’t think we have it?” Harry asked.

  “Maybe, but we have to proceed carefully here. Not only are we at risk of blowing Alexi’s cover, but the Turning Stone Society’s cover, as well,” Delaney said.

  “Turning Stone Society?” Harry echoed.

  “’Tis the name o’ the secret group o’ shape shifters,” Eli explained.

  Harry pressed the sides of his head between his hands. Too much stuff to digest at one time. He picked Delaney’s keys off the table. “I should get you to the morgue to ID your daughter.”

  Rhys snatched the keys from him. “I’ll drive. I don’t think you, or Delaney, are in any condition to manage the road.”

  “I’m coming.”

  He kissed the top of Alexi’s head and stopped her mid-pronouncement. “No, you are not going.”

  “But I could go shifted since the captain knows.”

  “What if we run into Sylvia?”

  She stuck her lower lip out. “Okay, fine. But I’m going stir crazy.”

  “Better crazy, than dead,” he said as he headed toward the kitchen doorway. He stopped and wheeled toward Harry. “Which is where we all might be if you can’t keep what we’ve told you a secret.”

  Harry glanced at Delaney then at Alexi. The plea radiating from their eyes was a bright as a lighthouse beacon searching for lost sailors in a storm. How could he betray the woman he loved and the detective he’d come to think of as a daughter?

  On the other hand, how could he keep something this strange, and apparently so intertwined into the crimes happening in his precinct, under wraps? Right now he wished he’d never met Delaney Ramsey or knew Alexi was still alive.

  “Captain,” Rhys said. “Did you hear my question?”

  “I heard it. I don’t have a clear answer yet.”

  Chapter 33

  Delaney’s heart sank at Harry’s words. She’d heard that phrase before, and it had never ended well. Eli wore a black expression. If Harry didn’t play along, Eli would not make nice, especially since he believed his goal of finding a true Promised One in Alexi and Rhys was within his grasp. Nothing would stand in the way of that goal. Not her, not another rogue, and certainly not a mere mortal.

  Fear and panic and sorrow rushed at her as she fought against the tears. If she lost Harry she couldn’t bear it, not after discovering Lila was dead. She had to convince Harry to come to their side. The question was, how?

  Looping her arm through his, she urged him toward the door. “We can talk more about this later, please. I need to see Lila.”

  The tension in the room melted into sympathy as she reminded everyone of the tragedy that had befallen her.

  “Do ye need me there, lassie?” Eli asked, his expression transforming from a black cloud to a wreath of concern.

  “Thanks, but no. You stay here with Alexi. I have Rhys and Harry for support.”

  Harry wrapped his arm around her waist, and she leaned into him, grateful for whatever time she might have left with him.

  The ride to the morgue was quiet. Rhys drove and she and Harry sat in the back, his left arm draped across the top of the seat, tucking her close to him, his right hand covering hers. The warmth from him did little to take away the chill and dread creeping through her bones. As the car gobbled each mile, Delaney’s disquiet grew. She started fidgeting, her legs restless and every fiber in her being urging her to go back. If she never saw Lila, never identified her, then she could go on hoping she was still missing. Couldn’t she?

  “Stop the car!” she commanded.

  Rhys jerked the wheel to the right and drove off on the shoulder of the highway. Gravel pinged on the undercarriage like rocks hitting her heart.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked as he twisted around in the seat.

  “The body in the morgue can’t be my daughte
r.”

  “Katrina thought so,” Harry said. “If you’d rather wait for the DNA check to come, and ID her, we can do that. I can ask the lab for a rush. It shouldn’t take too many days.” He twirled his index finger in a circle, indicating Rhys should reverse direction.

  Days? I don’t want to be in limbo for days. But if it’s not her, then I could be in limbo for months or years.

  Rhys maneuvered the car around and she shouted, “Stop. Take me to her.”

  She forced a grip on her emotions. She was flipping like a pancake on a hot griddle. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

  “No offense taken,” Rhys replied as he glanced over his shoulder at her. “This isn’t easy. I know.”

  Her attention drawn from her own pain into suspicion, she scanned him. Ripples of sulfur yellow and dirty brown and gray agony hazed his aura. Why would he care so deeply? Unless?

  Determination steeled her. Her daughter was lying on a cold morgue slab.

  Dead.

  Someone was going to pay dearly for taking her life.

  Katrina rushed to meet Delaney the second the morgue door opened. “I’m sorry,” she said as she threw off her surgical apron and latex gloves.

  Wrapping her arms around Delaney, she hugged her tightly. Delaney let the younger woman offer her condolences, fighting the flood of emotions threatening to waterfall into the depths of her heart.

  Closing her eyes against the sterile surroundings of the morgue, for the briefest of moments, she pretended it was not Katrina holding her, but Lila. Pretended it was her daughter saying, “I’m sorry.” Pretended this whole, terrible situation was only a dream, a horrible nightmare she would awaken from any second.

  The ring of metal against metal chinked against the wall of her pretense, returning her focus to the nightmare at hand, crushing any hope she would awaken. The smell of death and decay drifted to her, brought, no doubt, by Katrina’s rush to her side. Gently, Delaney eased the younger woman away and nodded her acknowledgement of her sympathy.

  Katrina moved alongside her and grasped her hand, weaving her fingers between hers, and stood waiting. Harry flanked her on the other side. Delaney reached for him with her free hand. Any and all support was welcome.

  His hand engulfed hers. “Are you certain you want to do this now?” he asked.

  She nodded, not trusting her voice, and moved forward tentatively. With each step, the sound of blood rushing in her ears roared louder and louder until it sounded like water rushing over Niagara Falls. The morgue slab, where the body lay, shimmered like a mist in the sunlight. She forced her feet forward. One hesitant step at a time.

  Harry shifted his grip on her, placing one hand around her waist and entwined the other into her fingers, squeezing her hand. Grateful for the support, she leaned harder into him as she took the last step toward the table.

  As she viewed the decaying body on the slab, her pounding heart stopped. Tears blurred her vision as she recognized what was left of her beautiful daughter. She ripped her hand from Katrina’s and threw herself against Harry, sobbing into his shoulder.

  He dragged her away from the stainless steel table. How, she wasn’t sure, because her feet felt rooted to the floor, bound to the speckled gray linoleum like a redwood in a primeval forest. Behind her she heard the scrape of metal and the rattle of trays and surgical instruments, then the squeak of wheels. Someone shoved a chair behind her knees, and she collapsed into it as Katrina, Harry, and Rhys hovered over her. A flimsy plastic cup, filled with water, pressed against her hand, and she grasped it with wooden fingers, squeezing until the water burped over the top and spilled across her lap.

  But it didn’t matter.

  Nothing mattered.

  Because Lila was gone.

  She didn’t know how long she sat there, tears streaming down her cheeks, body racked with sobs. Occasionally, she would see Harry crouched in front of her holding a tissue box, his face contorted in concern. Katrina sat beside her, hand rubbing soothing circles on her back, crooning undistinguishable words to her. Rhys and the coroner stood against the morgue wall, flanking the door like sentinels guarding her.

  Her eyes burned like Hades’ fire from the salty tears, and her lungs threatened to burst. Finally, the sobs slowed and her brain cleared enough allowing her to get a grip on her emotions. With one last hiccupping sob, she pronounced, “I’m okay, now.”

  Rhys and the coroner seemed relieved. Harry’s concern eased, but Katrina’s expression told Delaney she knew better.

  Forcing a weak smile that did not reach her heart, she gathered the used tissues on her lap, and stood. Harry rushed to get a trashcan and held it out. She dumped the crumpled, wet tissues into it, willing the pain into the trash. She had no time for pain. Lila’s killer was on the loose, and she would find him. She scanned Rhys for signs of guilt or remorse, but all she could see besides his ring aura were faint gray flashes of sorrow and pink threads of concern. Was it sorrow for her loss, or his? Concern for her or over his part in Lila’s death? Was his sorrow and concern overriding the guilt she had seen in him earlier? She couldn’t tell. From this moment forward, she was not going to trust him, no matter what Eli said.

  Facing the coroner she said, “I want to be informed every step of the way on this autopsy. Whatever you know, I’d better know three seconds after you find out.”

  He glanced at Harry, who said, “Not gonna happen, Delaney. You’re too close to this case. I’ll put Rhys on point.”

  “No!” The word burst from her like air from a punctured balloon.

  The force of the word caused him to jerk. “He’s my best detective, Delaney. He’ll do a good job.”

  “No,” she repeated, shaking her head. “This is my daughter, my case.”

  “It’s okay, Captain. Maybe she’d be more comfortable if you’d handle it.” Rhys leaned in closer to Harry and whispered, “Besides, I’ve got the other thing I’m working on, remember?”

  Recognition dawned in Harry’s eyes, then something akin to disgust rolled across his features, replaced by bewilderment.

  He was still coming to grips with the shape shifter revelation. That, too, didn’t matter anymore. At least not as it related to their relationship, which she doubted even existed after the shock he’d had.

  “I can live with that solution, if the captain can,” she said. “As long as you promise not to keep things hidden from me.”

  He snorted and shot her a grimace that clearly said, Look who’s talking about keeping secrets. “I’m sure I can manage that, if you can promise to stay out of trouble. After all, I believe honesty is the best policy.”

  “Fine,” she replied. “I’ll expect a report in the morning.” She started to leave but he stopped her.

  “I’ll see you home,” he said. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

  “Thanks, but Katrina is staying with me. I won’t be alone.” She motioned to Katrina. “Do you mind coming now?”

  “No problem. I’ll get my purse and coat.”

  As she walked away, Harry stepped closer to Delaney, speaking in a quiet tone only she could hear. “I want you to know we will get the person who did this to your daughter. I promise. I’ll start with the mortician first thing in the morning. I don’t trust him.”

  “Neither do I, but it’s not for the same reasons. He’s not guilty of a crime merely because he’s different than you.”

  “I’m not so prejudiced I can’t see that,” he said defensively. “I admit I’m reeling from, you know. I need time to think. Sort it all out.”

  At his words, a flutter of hope struggled to rise from the ashes of their torched relationship. “Take all the time you need, Harry,” she said as offhandedly as she could.

  Thinking about the Turning Stone Society was good. If he could accept them, she c
ould save him from Eli, and maybe he could accept what she was.

  She shut down her personal longing with a brutal slap. Once she found Lila’s killer her relationship with Harry wouldn’t matter. She’d either be in jail or dead. Either way, he would be out of the picture.

  Chapter 34

  Falhman’s butler intoned the announcement of Sylvia’s arrival with the enthusiasm of a patient getting a colonoscopy, then ushered her into the entry hall. He apparently did not like her. The feeling was mutual.