Not very secure. I stepped out to look both ways, and spotted the door Nick and I had arrived through. “Hm.”
Returning to the former resting place of the book, I studied it. “Is there another way in?”
“No.”
“Okay. It was dark...”
The elf interrupted me. “It's never dark in here.”
“It was in the vision I had. Completely black.” I paused. “Wait a minute. I couldn't see the dead guy's face when he was choking me. There was this black stuff, like a piece of night, wrapped around his head.”
“Rather clumsy method of concealment. I'd think it would be quite noticeable.” Thorandryll crossed his arms, one eyebrow rising and lips twisting into a barely there smirk.
“Maybe, but it worked. At least until he was dead.” Hands on hips, I shrugged. “With nothing more to go on at the moment, I'm going to say that Dead Fake Elf Guy was the thief.”
No response from the elf. I began pacing. “That vision means he was there, and was part of the cult. Why would cultists want it?”
“I have no idea. It's merely a journal, written by one long dead. A tedious record of the times that led to the dividing of our realms, including quite a bit of boring political commentary.” Thorandryll smiled when I glanced in his direction.
My pacing had taken me away from the shelves. Leaning against a table's edge, I frowned. “Then why would anyone want to steal it?”
The elf shrugged, coming to stand directly before me. “I don't know.”
Scanning his face, I wasn't entirely certain he was telling the truth and became uncomfortably aware that he'd invaded my personal bubble. Deciding to move, I set a hand on the table to push away. Heat flashed through my body and a loud gasp escaped my lips. I'd forgotten about the first memory from the red silk. The table was the same one the woman had been on. Lucky me: it was my day for extremely vivid visions.
The elf was close, his head lowering and hands rising to cup my face. As his lips covered mine, something quietly nagged at me. Something about this...
Bright light flared in my head. Hands flat on the elf's chest, I shoved hard. He stumbled back, but the fact the vision had become real wasn't immediately important.
The thin, silvery line in my mind was. Taking off at a run, I hoped it wouldn't fade before I located whatever had triggered it.
Barely aware that Thorandryll was chasing after me, I slid out into the hallway, dodging into another room not but a few strides later. Crossing it, I threw open the balcony doors without slowing down much. The eight-foot drop was a little jarring, but nothing twisted or cracked. Still sensing the trail, I increased my pace while cursing the fact I’d worn boots instead of running shoes.
Slick underfoot, the grass blurred by, as did ornamental shrubs. I heard a shout, but didn’t look back or slow down.
Not until an ancient-looking archway of vine-covered stone appeared. The pebbles marking the path to it rolled under my boots, so that I almost fell on my ass while sliding to a halt.
Catching my balance, I focused on the line’s termination point. Panting, aware of sweat trickling down between my breasts, I scrambled to the patch of grass and dropped to rake my fingers through it in search.
All that effort and the prize was a thin braid of what looked like embroidery threads. Holding it up, I had no clue what it might mean. Thorandryll arrived, so I held it up for him to see. Sweeping his hair back over a broad shoulder, the elf focused on it. After a minute, he crouched down for a closer inspection. Finally, he murmured, “It’s not our magic.”
Twirling it briefly, I shrugged and tucked it into my back pocket. He’d wanted to keep the missing book quiet, and another elf was approaching.
“I haven’t seen you chasing after a woman that quickly since we were young. Losing your touch?” He clapped Thorandryll on the shoulder while looking me over.
The newcomer had rich, mahogany hair and grass green eyes. Dressed in shades of brown, he made the archaic tunic, leggings, and boots look fashionable. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar.
“Is she your new lover?”
Rising, my client’s eyes cut to mine before turning to face him. Before Thorandryll could answer, I stood up and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I’m going to be late to work.”
“I’ll return you to your vehicle.” He reached for my arm. Skipping backwards, I plastered on a smile. Being alone with him seemed like a bad idea.
“That’s all right. Call me.” With that, I teleported away.
Ten
“You'd be better off having David look at it.” Kate shook her head. Somehow she managed to make me feel like a cat who’d just spat a rat’s tail at her feet. Not a bad prize, but a whole rat would be more useful. “String magic isn't my forte.”
“Cool. I'll go over and,” I saw Nick pulling into the parking lot. “Uh-oh.”
Kate’s gaze swept my throat, and she snickered. “This should be interesting.”
The smile he greeted us with while entering the building became a scowl as the shifter saw my neck. “What happened?”
“Jones had a little adventure last night,” Kate answered in her most helpful tone.
His “Damn it, Cordi” was a frustrated growl. “Why didn't you call me?”
“Didn't have time to. Where were you all morning anyway?”
“I spent the night out at Fent's farm, remember? Brownies. I introduced them this morning and the old man's thrilled to have some company. He's letting them move into the cellar.” A grin reeking of smug appeared on his face. “Case closed.”
“Then you can write up the report while I go--”
Nick shook his head. “Not without me. I want to know everything that’s happened since last night.”
“I'm gone. Still trying to track down Mr. Blacke,” Kate said as we squared off with each other. “You can tell me who won later.” Wiggling her fingers in an abbreviated wave, the witch escaped out to the parking lot.
“Reports are important,” I began, determined to keep the matter on a professional level.
“Screw the damn report. Who did that? Who hurt you?” Nick jabbed a finger at my neck, his eyes narrowing and a scowl appearing.
So much for professional behavior. “He's dead.”
The shifter blinked. Having regained the upper hand, I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow, trying for amused boredom. “Regardless of what you and the boss think, I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah? And just how did you take care of yourself while being strangled?” Nick mirrored my pose, arms flexing as he crossed them. It looked more impressive when he did it.
I wasn’t about to admit it had been pure luck. “I've been taking self-defense lessons.”
Nick shook his head. “I guess that's good if you get mugged. By a human.”
“My instructor's an ex-Marine.”
“Then he should be teaching you how to handle a gun. That would be a lot more useful against vampires, Cordi.”
Actually, I had a concealed carry license and a gun. It stayed in a desk drawer, because I didn’t like carrying it. “Did you not see me head butt that vamp the other day? It totally worked. Go, Marines!”
He laughed. “You got lucky.”
“Uh-uh. I did what Jeff taught me to: I surprised him.” The supernatural superiority complex was beginning to irritate the hell out of me.
Rolling his eyes, the shifter suddenly bent, grabbed my left ankle, and yanked. I ended up on my ass. “Ow!”
“Surprise works both ways,” he said, grinning down at me.
“Jerk.” I accepted the hand he offered, and he pulled me to my feet. Nick’s grin disappeared the second we were face to face. Searching mine, he let go of my hand and stepped back.
“Why did you kiss him?”
“What?”
“I can smell the elf on you, Cordi.”
From the way his jaw clenched, Nick didn’t like it one bit. “Oh, it was nothing. One of his buddies showed while I was fol
lowing a trail. Thorandryll did specify ‘discreet’, if you’ll remember.”
A slow nod was his response. “The guy was kind of nosy, and asked if I was his new girlfriend, so I kissed his cheek and left.”
It wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t as though Nick was eager to share much more than his body. I held up the string. “Found this, and I’m going to the Orb to ask David to take a look at it. Are you coming?”
“Yeah.”
He was back to normal by the time we arrived, because I’d spent the drive bringing him up to speed while he hung onto the Jesus handle.
The Blue Orb sat tucked among other businesses in a cul-de-sac off Main Street. Its façade matched theirs, being adobe warmed to cream by the sunlight, and a dull red canvas canopy promised shade. Inside, a welter of scents from herbs and candles filled the air. I sniffed appreciatively, picking out hints of sage, rosemary, and frankincense.
The first thing I did was introduce Nick to David. Second up was handing over the string. After that, I excused myself and went upstairs, leaving Nick to check out the shop while the warlock studied the string.
David had been the hardest to win over of the witches, being shy and intellectual. Asking if he carried Psychic Abilities for Dummies hadn’t started us off on the right foot.
We all kept emergency bags at the shop, in a spare closet. I got mine out and carried it to one of the guest bathrooms. Though not sure what was going on between us, making Nick jealous or hurting his feelings wasn’t my style.
I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and reapplied makeup. My last step was a fresh squirt of perfume before returning my bag to the closet.
Once back downstairs, I hopped up on the counter. “Well?”
David was up to his usual high standards, ready with the answers. “Concealment charm.”
“One strong enough to hide a human pretending to be an elf from real elves?” I gave his familiar's glossy black feathers a stroke. Copernicus rustled his wings, blinking sleepily.
“From the residual magic, I’d say yes.”
“Cool. Dead Guy was the thief,” I decided. “I need to remember to ask Thorandryll where that arch led to.”
“I think the cultists are a bigger concern.” Nick returned from wandering around the shop.
“Dude, I can handle humans just fine. Proved that last night.” My defiance turned to a grudging admission. “It's their pet demon that has me worried.”
“Meh.” David shrugged, straightening his old-fashioned cardigan that always had stuff trailing from the pockets. “It takes quite a bit of power to call one up, Cordi. Even if that vision was of a relatively recent raising, it's quite likely the demon already completed whatever task it was set to, and has returned to the nether realm.”
“If it takes so much to raise one, why wouldn't they keep it around? You know, like having a guard dog on a leash?”
David laughed. “A demon's not a dog. A dog, properly trained, will obey. Force is required to make a demon obey. It would take too much energy and blood to control one for any real length of time. If you can’t control what you raise, it will take over. Few want to risk that happening.”
Feeling much better, I smiled. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
“Now what?” Nick was frowning, but I detected a hint of relief.
“Now we eat lunch. I'm starving.” Sliding off the counter, I grinned. “And we learn how to hunt cultists.”
“Jo's lunching at the cafe,” David remarked.
“Cool. Want us to bring you something back?” He shook his head. “Okay, catch you later.”
The café was across the cul-de-sac from the Orb. A tiny outdoor patio allowed the coven to have their familiars with them, specially created after David had taken possession of the building and opened the shop for business. In return, Ronnie had warded the place against theft, and natural disasters. Also against vermin of both the insect and small furry kind.
Or not so small. Santo Trueno’s rats rivaled the tales told of New York’s.
“The serious cultists love the poseurs and dabblers. They make good minions and fodder.” Catching my grimace, Jo shrugged. “I don't make the news. I just report it.”
“Fodder? Like, they feed them to demons?” My appetite for the scrumptious looking fried chicken on my plate disappeared.
“I suppose in a pinch, yeah. But minions are the fall guys, the living shields—the expendables.” She petted her familiar, who was watching Nick strip fried chicken from bone with an unblinking gaze.
Though the shifter appeared to be ignoring us, I felt certain he wasn't missing a single word. “Okay, so where do we find where the serious types recruit their minions from?”
She grinned. “Think in clichés for this crap. Goth clubs.”
“Don't vampires own most of them?” I picked at my chicken, uncertain it would stay down if I ate it. The cat transferred her attention to me.
“Yes, most of them. You want the ones owned by humans. Vampires don't look kindly on anyone poaching from their potential donor pool, so most of the cults steer clear.”
“Which don't?” I asked, offering Trixie a bit of chicken. She sniffed before daintily accepting it.
“The stupid ones.” Nick chuckled at her response, and Jo beamed at him. “Cordi didn't mention how old you are.”
If the change of subject fazed him, the shifter gave no sign. “Twenty-three. Did she mention we're sleeping together?”
“God!” I shot a disgusted look at him as my face grew hot.
Jo laughed. “Yeah, she did mention that. Rated you an eight.”
“I'll have to try harder and longer.” He went back to eating, unperturbed by Jo’s wicked cackling or Trixie’s amused grumble.
Burying my flushed face into my hands, I wondered what would get me first: cultists, vampires—or my friends.
***
Lunch over, Nick and I returned to the office. There was a note waiting. Mr. Mitchell had called for a progress report, which struck me as weird.
“You write the Fent report,” was my order, complete with handing over the case file.
Accepting it, he asked, “What are you going to be doing?”
“Detective stuff, after I return this phone call. Like researching the ownership of Goth clubs. We can start hitting them tomorrow night.” I didn’t even want to think about walking into a loud, crowded club.
“Okay. How about we go out for dinner after work?”
“Uh, no. Sorry.” Seeing disappointment appear on his face, I added, “I'm exhausted, Nick. It was a rough morning.”
“Right. Maybe dinner before club crawling tomorrow?” he suggested, disappointment gone.
“Sounds good,” I agreed. “Now scoot.”
“Scooting, Miss Bossy.” With a grin, the shifter left my office. Going to my desk and sitting down, I received a faint impression of Kate’s irritation at having to play receptionist when I picked up the call note.
Mr. Mitchell certainly hadn’t given off any vibes to make me think he was worried about his step-daughter. Why would he call, instead of his wife?
Maybe to get back into her good graces? I bet he’d spent a night or two on the couch for his insistence she’d run away because she was a spoiled brat. If looks could kill, the ones Mrs. Mitchell had been shooting his way would’ve left my office a disaster area.
Picking up the phone, I checked the Zoe shimmer before punching in the number. The reassuring gold eased my mind.
“Mitchell and Associates. How may I direct your call?”
“I’m returning a call from,” I checked the case folder. “Mr. Hugh Mitchell. This is Discord Jones.”
“One moment, please, while I see if he’s in his office.” Elevator music filled my eardrum.
Two minutes passed before the music cut off, and Mitchell was on the line. “Miss Jones?”
“Yes. I don’t have anything solid to pass on, except that I know for certain Zoe’s alive and not a vampire.” Be
fore he could make any response, I plunged ahead. “However, I do have a few questions that you may be able to help me with.”
“Of course.”
I’d start with the easy and obvious question. “What can you tell me about Zoe’s relationship with her father?”
“She idolizes him, so of course, I’m the interloper. He’s been too busy to see much of her since the divorce. A weekend every other month or two.”
“All right, so in your opinion, she would or wouldn’t go to him?”
Mitchell snorted. “If she knew where he was, she would. He travels extensively. I believe he’s currently in Japan.”
“Do you know if Zoe has a Facebook account? I’d like to talk to some of her friends.”
“No, I don’t. She does have a computer in her room, but it’s password protected.”
And he knew that how? Before I could ask, Mitchell told me. “Lesley checked it when Zoe first disappeared, hoping to find she’d had plans with friends.”
Logical. “Okay. I’ll do a search and see if I can find what social media sites Zoe used.”
“Didn’t you find out anything useful from her necklace?”
“Not really, other than that she’s still alive.”
His voice carried a note of caution. “How did you determine that from it?”
I felt rather cautious myself, and didn’t want to give him too much information. “She must have worn it a lot. Formed a kind of energy connection to it, which I received when I handled it.”
“But you didn’t learn anything about her current whereabouts?”
“No.” I told the lie without a pause. “I’m sorry, I didn’t.”
“Well, you can only do what you can do.” There was an unmistakable note of satisfaction in his voice. I wanted to reach through the phone and throttle him.
“What is your relationship with Zoe like?”
“Mine?” I’d surprised him, if the squeak in his voice was any indication. “Well, we basically ignore each other. She doesn’t care for me at all. That interloper thing. I’m not her father, just the man her mother decided to marry.”
He didn’t sound bitter or upset about it. Shouldn’t he be? “All right. Thanks for the help, Mr. Mitchell. I’ll be in touch.”
Arcane Solutions (Discord Jones) Page 7
