shadows of salem 01 - shadow born

by hamilton, rebecca

  “I know that he was just like you,” Father James replied. “Determined to find answers, determined to find truth. And as much as I believe in the Lord, and that shining His light into the darkness is the only way to banish evil, I also believe that around here, it’s the quickest way to get yourself killed.”

  I tried to get more information out of Father James, but he was remarkably tight-lipped, and the drive back to the precinct was shorter than I’d have liked. I spent the rest of the day handling the paperwork regarding the victim I’d found this morning and also helping Baxter wrap up the case he’d caught.

  The prettily-dressed woman I’d found buried in the old, rundown mill was born Marjorie Graham and was a thirty-two-year-old resident of Salem. She owned a bakery a few blocks from the apartment where she’d been killed. I wondered if the Giant she’d become lovers with had romanced her from over the glass counter of her bakery shop or if the two of them had run into each other on the street and hit it off. Had she known he was fae?

  She had to have known, I thought, drumming my fingers against my desk as I paused in the middle of writing my report. There was no way she’d spent any length of time in his apartment, and not to mention his bed, without knowing.

  And now she was dead, and her family would never know the truth of what had happened to her. Even if I hunted down the women dressed in black who had done this to her, Marjorie’s family would still never know the entire truth, because Maddock wouldn’t allow it.

  I curled my fingers around my mouse, digging angrily into the hard, white plastic. God dammit, but why did Maddock get to decide? Who was he to pull strings and press buttons, to have autopsy and police reports doctored so that no hint of the supernatural would come up in any investigations? Who was he to leave so many cases dangling, so many families without closure?

  And just what good is closure when you’re lying on the inside of a closed casket?

  I sighed. That was true enough. What was the point in telling someone that the boogie man was real if you couldn’t also arm them with the knowledge they needed to defend themselves against him?

  If I went up to Captain Randall—or any of the cops here, for that matter—and even hinted at what I’d seen, they’d have my badge and lock me up with the crazies. And then how was I going to help anyone?

  No, much as I wished I could tell people the truth, it wasn’t the right choice. Aside from the fact that they’d think I was crazy, I also didn’t know enough to teach them what to do about all of this crap anyway. I still had too much to learn myself.

  As the day went on, I half-expected Captain Randall to call me on the carpet for being late and pursuing a murder without Baxter, or at least grill me for the holes that any cop worth his salt would find in my vague report. But as the end of the day drew closer, I began to see that Maddock had kept his end of the bargain.

  Nobody would be looking into this. Nobody but us. Which meant that if I wanted to find out what was going on, I needed to get out of here.

  As soon as my shift ended, I was out the door and in my Jeep. It felt good to have the steering wheel under my hands again—walking around Salem had been interesting, but now that I knew strange creatures haunted the shadows, I felt safer driving home.

  As I pulled into the lot in front of my apartment building, which was part of a complex of several buildings located just off Bridge Street, my attention snapped to a huge black guy dressed in a tailored suit. He was leaning against the trunk of a shiny black Mercedes, and as I slid into my spot, he inclined his head, his brilliant amber eyes glinting with recognition.

  A shiver slid down my spine as I killed the engine, and I gripped the steering wheel tighter. Maybe it was his strangely-colored eyes that gave him away, or maybe it was some kind of built-in supernatural intuition, but I just knew he was fae.

  “Good evening, Detective Chandler.” The man inclined his head to greet me as I got out of my Jeep, his deep, rich voice washing over me like a wave of molasses.

  “Good evening.” I paused in front of him, folding my arms across my chest. The action hitched my blazer up a little, drawing attention to the gun and badge at my hip. “Since you seem to be waiting for me, mind telling me what I can do to help you?”

  “Staying inside would be the easiest,” the man said. “Lord Tremaine sent me here to secure the perimeter and make sure nothing comes to attack you tonight.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Tremaine sent me a bodyguard?”

  “I guess you could call it that.” The guy shrugged, drawing attention to his massive shoulders. Jesus, was being built like a behemoth a job requirement for working with Maddock Tremaine? “I’ve had the doors and windows of your apartment warded, so nothing should be able to get in unless you let it in.”

  “Oh.” My first instinct was to be angry that somebody had been sniffing around my place and setting up magic spells. But after nearly being drowned in my bathtub, I considered that some magical protection voodoo might be nice. “Well, thanks, I guess. But if there are wards protecting my apartment, I don’t think you need to be out here. I can take care of myself, and fae are being targeted right now.”

  The man laughed, exposing white teeth with incisors that were just a little too long. “Your concern is touching, but there’s no reason to worry. This is my job, and besides, I’m an iron fae.” He thumped his chest. “Nothing can cut me.”

  “An iron fae?” My brow furrowed as I tried to figure that one out. “What, does that mean your skin is made of iron? How does that even work if the fae are allergic to iron?”

  “My kind are an anomaly amongst the fair folk,” my new guard said. “A scientist would say we are a genetic mutation—nature’s attempt to help the fae adapt in this world full of steel and glass and iron bars that the humans are building.” His upper lip curled. “There is a reason we prefer smaller towns and cities.”

  Huh. Was that why I’d never run into a fae, then? Because Chicago was a big city? “I’m guessing that means vampires and other supernaturals born of fae magic aren’t susceptible to iron?”

  “Yes, which is why they are able to thrive by comparison.” The sneer deepened, and I raised my eyebrows at the clear prejudice in my guard’s amber eyes. “Vampires, shifters, witches, and the myriad other supernaturals out there make their homes in the iron-clad cities where we cannot dwell, and so they are able to carve out their own territories. If we shared the same lands, you can bet that we would be on top, and that all the other races would bow to our will.”

  “Er, so are you saying that the other supernaturals around here do bow to fae will?”

  “Not as much as they should, these days.” The guard scowled. “Lord Tremaine will yank them into line, though. He always does.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, starting to head toward the entrance to my apartment. “I better head in. Have a good evening.”

  The guard returned my farewell, and I went inside, mulling over what I’d just learned as I trudged up the stairs.

  Maddock had told me he was here to oversee the supernatural community in this area, but were his intentions simply to protect the residents, or to subjugate them to fae rule? If the bodyguard’s views were any indication, the fae considered themselves far superior to their magical by-blows and felt all supernaturals should defer to them. I bet that created all kinds of animosity toward the fae.

  And maybe, just maybe, even the kind of animosity that would lead an old coven of witches to start kidnapping fae citizens.

  I wanted to delve into research the moment I set foot in my apartment, but my body demanded food and relaxation first. So I whipped out a TV dinner from the freezer, then drew myself a hot, luxurious bath.

  As I sank into the water, a shiver of apprehension trickled down my spine. I’d nearly died the last time I was in here. But I pressed my lips together and pushed the feeling away. I was not going to let the experience keep me from enjoying my bath. I’d discovered long ago that the best way to get over a traumati
c experience was to face triggers head-on rather than letting them squish me into a little ball of fear. That might not work for everyone, but it worked for me, and I wasn’t about to stop now.

  Sighing, I rested my head on the lip of the tub and touched the cross that rested on my soap-covered chest. I felt as if I was getting dragged out to sea by getting mixed up with Maddock in his quest to find these missing fae, and I needed to ground myself, to remind myself why I was really here. To find out what happened to Tom.

  But as my fingers brushed the metal, a vision hit me, one of the most disorienting I’d ever had.

  Yellowed, linoleum-tiled halls. Nuns dressed in long, black habits. Children of various ages wearing bedraggled uniforms. A picture of a group of kids outside a church-like building hung on one of the walls, with a large sign out front that read “New Advent Home for Children.”

  A room with rickety wooden desks and a dusty chalkboard. A struggle. The room spun as fists flew, metal flashed.

  Blood. So much blood.

  The world tilted, and then I was on my side, liquid seeping onto the scratched tile beneath me. And that was when the screams came.

  Gasping, I shot straight up in the tub, water sloshing over the sides. My heart galloped so hard I thought it might burst through my chest. God, but what had I just seen? I knew from conversations with Tom that the New Advent Home for Children was the orphanage where he’d grown up. But what was up with all that violence, all that blood? Had someone been killed?

  From the vantage point that I’d witnessed the battle, the wearer of the cross hadn’t been a child, but an adult. Was this a recent vision? Had Tom been at the orphanage? Was that where he’d actually been killed?

  They’d sent me his cross, saying that was all they could find left of him. Had he died wearing it in a fire, or in a battle inside of an orphanage? The whole thing had never sat right with me. The cross would have been ruined by the fire, and the flames would have left behind some remains.

  Bodies don’t just disappear, and the excuse that Tom’s body must have been moved was sloppy—if they thought that, why hadn’t they searched for it? All these questions were a part of why I was here now. Tom’s case needed to be investigated properly.

  I scrubbed myself clean as quickly as I could, then left the bath and hurried into a pair of shorts and a tank top. Curling up on the couch with a can of coke, I opened up my laptop and ran a search on the New Advent Home for Children. Google told me it was located in Boston, about an hour’s drive from here.

  Had the missing kids Tom was talking about actually been from Boston? That would explain why Captain Randall didn’t seem to know about them...but then why hadn’t he mentioned that Tom was digging around in Boston? And why hadn’t Tom told me the truth about where he was going? The two of them were covering something up…and only one of them was alive to tell me the truth.

  Angry now, I shrugged on a hoodie over my tank top, then went outside to talk to my new bodyguard. I wanted to get a hold of Maddock and see what he knew about this. Cover-ups seemed to be his specialty, after all, and he had offered to help me find out what happened to Tom. I was going to get his help, and then I was going to Boston.

  I trotted down the steps and out the front door of the apartment building, then approached the black Mercedes. It was dark out, so it wasn’t until I was standing next to the driver’s side door that I noticed the shadowy outline of the guard sprawled in his seat.

  Alarm bells rang in my head, and I instinctively placed a hand on my weapon. I didn’t know the guy, but he’d struck me as a professional. No way was he going to just fall asleep in his car when he was supposed to be protecting me.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I braced myself for the worst, then yanked open the car door. The thick, salty stench of blood instantly clogged my nostrils, and my eyes widened in horror at the sight of the guard slumped against a tan leather seat. His supposedly unbreakable skin was sliced open in a hundred places, blood seeping from all the wounds. Lifeless eyes stared up at the car’s roof, the amber irises I’d found so interesting devoid of spark.

  And just as I reached out to check his pulse, to determine if he really was dead, his body disintegrated in front of my eyes.

  CHAPTER 16

  I pulled up outside Maddock’s club with screeching brakes, then slammed out of my Jeep. The line of people waiting to get in snaked through the parking lot and around the block, just like last time, but I bypassed them and stormed up to the Mountain Man guarding the front door.

  Said man moved his bulk to block the door and fixed his cold blue eyes on me. “You can’t go in.”

  I pushed back my blazer, revealing my badge, and rested my hand on the butt of my weapon. “Like hell I’m not. Let me through. I’m here to see Maddock Tremaine on official police business.”

  “Lord Tremaine would be more than happy to meet you at your precinct at a time of his choosing if you need to discuss official business with him.” The bouncer’s face was stony. “But you’re on the no-entry list, Detective, and that isn’t going to change.”

  “If you don’t let me in right now, I’m going to rain every kind of legal hell I possibly can down on this club, and I will never help your boss again.”

  The guard smirked. “I doubt Lord Tremaine is concerned about that, considering that you don’t actually have any jurisdiction in Salem.”

  Damn. So he’d found out about that. Aware that all eyes were on me, I leaned in close enough that my nose nearly brushed the bouncer’s chest and glared up at him. “The guard that Lord Tremaine assigned to keep watch over my house is dead.”

  Mountain Man’s nostrils flared. “Caid? Dead? That’s impossible.”

  “He was sliced up like sashimi and shoved into his car, but I can’t prove that since he disintegrated shortly after I found him.” I scowled at the bouncer. “Are you going to let me in, or not?”

  “One moment.” The bouncer pulled a radio from his belt, then moved a few paces away and spoke into it quietly. A muffled voice crackled back. This went on for about a minute before he finally turned back to me.

  “Lord Tremaine will see you now.” The guard opened the door, and loud bass music spilled out into the night along with dark laughter and the scents of booze, expensive cologne, and sex. “Someone will escort you.”

  I stepped into the dim interior to find another Mountain Man waiting for me. This one’s head was shaved bald, and he had a long, wicked scar slashing vertically across the left half of his face. Consequently, the left eye was milky white and unseeing, but that didn’t lessen the potency of his frigid stare as he looked me up and down.

  “Right this way, Detective.” He angled his big body so that I could pass by. “Down to the end and then up the stairs.”

  Right. Just like last time. Except that this time, there was a behemoth herding me up the stairs, his body so close to mine that I could feel the menace rolling off him, sending warning signals skipping up my back.

  I didn’t even think about stopping to stare at the other patrons or skimming my fingers along surfaces to see if someone had gotten sloppy and I might find anything here. There was a time and a place for everything, and I knew that within these walls, the fact that I represented the law didn’t matter. I needed to hold myself in check, at least until I was in front of Maddock.

  I thought we would be going to the same room where I’d first overheard Maddock and Vox conversing, but Mountain Man guided me farther down the hall, to a room on the left. He knocked on a large door with wild beasts carved into the dark wood, angling his body in such a way that I couldn’t easily grab the doorknob and push my way in.

  “Enter,” Maddock’s deep, richly-accented voice snapped, and Mountain Man pushed the door open.

  “Sir, she’s here—”

  “Yes, I am, and you don’t need to talk for me.” I brushed past him and into the room—a study, I realized. Dark, heavy wood, sumptuous red carpeting, and shelves lined with books both old and new. A large oil pa
inting of a woman draped in red silk dominated the wall across from his desk, and his dark, exotic scent filled the space, marking it unequivocally as his.

  Maddock’s green eyes pierced me like a lance—his eyes glittered like gems, his face granite, and I knew right then that he was furious.

  “Leave us,” he snapped at the guard.

  The guard bowed, then backed out of the room as if Maddock was the goddamn Queen of England. I would have rolled my eyes if the situation wasn’t so serious.

  “Sit,” Maddock said softly, indicating the buttery brown leather chairs arranged in front of his desk. “And tell me exactly what happened.”

  “Fuck you.” I folded my arms and stayed right where I was. “You don’t get to sit there and tell me to make myself comfortable, as if ten seconds ago I wasn’t being told I was blacklisted from this club. What the hell, Tremaine? I thought we were working together.”

  “We are,” he said coldly, “but our partnership does not require granting ye access to my club. The only reason I let ye in now is because you told the bouncer Caid is dead. Is that true?”

  “He was sliced up and left to rot in that expensive Mercedes you gave him.” I felt a twinge of sympathy for the dead fae, but I brushed it aside—I needed to hold onto my anger. “I came here to let you know, thinking maybe you’d have some answers and we could hash out a plan together. But apparently I’m not even allowed to see you.”

  My strides took me across the room, and the next thing I knew my hands were splayed across his desk, palms pressing into papers neatly organized into small stacks. Maddock’s eyes widened as I leaned in, baring my teeth at him, and I took satisfaction at his surprise—I bet he thought I didn’t have the guts.

  “So what is it, Maddock Tremaine? Did you think this was going to be a one-way street, where you can teleport into my living room, leave guards outside my apartment, and otherwise call on me wherever you like, but I’m not allowed to do the same with you? Do you think that you can sneer at me like I’m less than the dirt stuck between the crevices in your shoes, and yet look at me like…like…”