Burning Gold (The Bewitching Hour Book 2)

by Mallory Crowe

  “It’s much cleaner than it used to—”

  “Not trash. All you hear are cabs and machinery. The buildings stop the air from flowing the way it’s supposed to and keep the city in shade. All you smell is trash and people. Every sense is taken over by the city. This place, this field, is your anchor. This is what allows you to leave your current mental state. So tonight, I want you to go home and meditate, using right here as an anchor.”

  “And after I meditate, what will happen?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Once again her eyes snapped open and she stepped away. “All this and you don’t even know?”

  “Everyone’s different. Some people move trees, other people bring the family dog back from the dead as a zombie. Once you can access your magic, then we can focus on controlling it.”

  Claire crossed her arms over her chest and once again scanned the area to see whether they were alone. “The other teacher never mentioned meditating.”

  “Like I said, I think you’re different.”

  “So, there’s not many witches like me. The type that call energy or whatever.”

  “No. It’s not as common. And they tend to grow up thinking they don’t have much power, and when it does hit, normally after they’re happy, they can’t control it.”

  Jackson was serious and somber, and she had the idea he was talking from personal experience. “So you and Sam used to be a thing, huh?” she asked. It wasn’t any of her business, but she was curious. And it wasn’t as if he had cared about boundaries when it had come to her.

  “We used to fuck. It was never anything serious.”

  “Are you one of those guys who never settles down?” she asked with a playful grin.

  He didn’t smile back. “Sam never loved me back.”

  Ouch. She must’ve hit a nerve. No. She wasn’t going to feel bad when he didn’t feel bad. “Sam can be pretty stubborn. And I think she still has a thing for Derek.”

  Jackson narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Can we not talk about that psycho? Actually, I think this lesson is over for the day.”

  Oh yeah, she forgot about the fight they’d gotten into.

  “So I just need to go home and meditate? When are we meeting up again?”

  “Once the meditation starts to work. Now come on. I parked around the corner. I’ll drive you home.”

  Well, at least he didn’t fly in on a broomstick. That was one plus.

  Derek flashed his badge to the officer on scene and walked to the cluster of uniformed officers and forensic techs gathered together. Clusters were normally the best place to start when it came to murder investigations.

  The smell hit him hard and he winced as he forced himself to keep walking. Once he reached the cluster, he cleared his throat and everyone backed away. As soon as he saw what had everyone so curious, he wished they’d stayed in place.

  “Glad you could make it,” said a woman behind him.

  He turned to see Detective Angela Parker standing there with her mouth curled in a little smile. “Please tell me you’re not enjoying this.”

  Parker was nonthreatening on first glance. She stood at a short five foot five and had dyed blonde hair and fair skin that said anything but narcotics detective. The limp she walked with since she’d gotten shot in the line of duty didn’t help.

  But that worked to her advantage. The rough guys of the drug world opened up more to her than the tough-as-nails cops like Derek. It also helped that Parker was a crack shot and had been working out fiercely to recover from the leg injury and could squat more than her bodyweight.

  She moved to stand next to him as they both looked down at the severed leg on top of the plastic tarp on the ground. “Enjoy, no. Someone is dead. I don’t enjoy that. But I’ve come to appreciate the insanity.”

  “So what happened?”

  “We brought in a low-level dealer and offered him lower charges if he could give us his supplier. He said he didn’t have anything that could help, but said he heard about a leg in a dumpster. That brings us here.”

  “No idea who it is?”

  “Nothing so far. The lab guys say it looks like the victim was dead when the leg was removed, thank God, so that makes this a probable homicide.”

  “Which is why I’m here,” completed Derek. “And it was just the leg in the dumpster?”

  “It was wrapped in an oversized black trash bag. The leg looks like it’s from a male Caucasian, between fifteen and fifty. Doesn’t look like there are any more parts floating around.”

  Derek nodded as he tried to formulate a plan in his mind. “We’re going to need to set a perimeter. Every dumpster in a mile radius needs to be checked. It’s going to be a bitch to get an ID off of a leg. We need prints or a head.”

  She nodded and fell quiet.

  “Parker, I appreciate your help with this, but I have a lot I need to get started. You can probably head out and we’ll touch base back at the station. I need to talk to that dealer you brought in.”

  “Of course,” she said, still not leaving.

  “Is there something you wanted to add?”

  “I heard you’re investigating arson these days.”

  Derek didn’t look at her. “I just had a few questions. It’s not my case.”

  “Word on the street is that you’re looking into a lot of cases that aren’t yours.”

  “People are talking about it?”

  Parker shrugged. “It’s being noticed, Derek. You’re a good cop. Everyone knows it. But don’t go stepping on toes. It’s not good for anyone.”

  Except for the victims who’d been swept under the rug already. The ones no one knew about because of the brain games the witches liked to play. “Thanks for the warning, Parker. I’ll watch my back.”

  “At least watch your legs.”

  Derek glanced down at the severed leg in front of them. “Too soon.”

  “Please tell me we don’t have some serial killer cutting off body parts,” said Voss.

  So much for hello. Derek shut the door to Captain Voss’s office before anyone overheard something important. “One leg doesn’t make a serial killer.”

  “Haven’t found anything else?”

  “We were canvassing the other dumpsters for hours without so much as a finger.”

  “Strange. I figured there’d be a finger in at least every other dumpster.”

  Nothing like jaded cop humor. “We still have uniforms out looking, but it’s going to be dark soon. I might have to call off the search for the moment. Hopefully the coroner can tell us more after he finishes examining the leg.”

  “How long was it there for?”

  “That’s one thing we have in our favor. The dumpster was emptied the day before, so the leg was dumped recently. And there was minimal bug activity, so the skin, for the most part, is visible. That could help with identification. The guy wasn’t dead long. I’m going through missing persons reports and sorting anything that could match our guy.”

  “Any luck there?”

  “It’s narrowing it down, but the victim might not be reported missing. So we’re still looking at shots in the dark.”

  Voss nodded as he wrinkled his nose. “This is going to end at the landfill, isn’t it?”

  Derek wasn’t happy about that fact either. “If we can’t find the rest of the body in dumpsters, we have to at least rule out the landfill.”

  “I don’t have enough fucking officers for this.”

  “I’m sure we can get some loaners from other precincts.”

  “I’m pretty sure too. I’ve already had a call from the mayor’s office checking up on this case. It’s going to be in the papers tomorrow and from then on, this is our number-one priority. We can’t have body parts showing up everywhere. It’s not good for anyone.”

  “Especially the owner of the leg.”

  Voss didn’t crack a smile. “You’re leading the case, Pierce. You know you’re my best guy.”

  Derek nodded at the unexpect
ed flattery but waited for the other shoe to drop.

  That shoe literally dropped when Voss threw a folder on the desk. “But I can’t have you looking into closed cases.”

  Derek reached for the folder and opened it. The reports from the old Harris fire.

  “You requested that Connecticut PD send this over to you,” said Voss. A statement, not a question.

  “I just wanted to clear a few things up.”

  “You clear them up away from the Harris family. If you go sniffing around Samantha Harris again, her mother will throw a lawsuit at the city before the mayor even finishes tossing your badge in the trash.”

  “Come on, Voss. The girl’s psychic and you’re not the least bit curious?” Apparently the mind wipe they’d done on his boss was more extensive than he realized.

  “What the fuck are you talking about? Leave the socialite alone. Focus on the leg. I want this done within a week.”

  Derek knew timelines were practically meaningless in murder investigations, but the administration liked them. Something Voss could tell the mayor when he called and demanded a status report on the investigation.

  Which meant if the investigation took longer, it would be Derek’s head on the chopping block. The joy of bureaucracy.

  “In that case, I’m pretty busy, Captain. Are we done here?”

  “No, we’re not done. I’ll tell you when we’re done.”

  Derek was silent as he waited for whatever else Voss wanted to say.

  “Policeman’s ball is Friday. As in tomorrow Friday. I heard you didn’t have a ticket.”

  “I never go to those things.”

  Voss reached into his drawer and pulled out an envelope. “Here are two tickets. Come and bring a date.”

  Derek stared at the tickets for a moment. “Uhh... why?”

  “You and Reyes are getting medals for bravery. Awarded by the mayor. So show up, smile, act surprised and solve this damn case before then.”

  “This is about Tommy Collins.”

  “You and Reyes are heroes. You got a serial killer off the streets. Pretend to be happy about it.”

  “There’s nothing happy about that case.” And it felt weird to accept anything when he knew the case wasn’t over. Tommy Collins had an accomplice, and there was no way he could figure out who without the support of the police department behind him—and Sam’s family had swept the whole incident under the rug.

  “If it makes you feel better, you weren’t first on the list. The city wanted to honor Reyes since he’s probably never going to walk again after the fall he took, but since you were the head detective on the case, we can’t give one person a medal and not the other.”

  “Your undying support is always appreciated, Captain,” said Derek dryly.

  Voss didn’t look concerned. “I’ve got fifteen agencies and officials riding up my ass over the leg thing. Figure it out. Show up to get some good press for the precinct. One p.m. tomorrow, you’re going to give me an update on where we stand, no pun intended. Got it?”

  Derek nodded. “Got it. You’ll know what I know.”

  “And you leave Samantha Harris alone!” he shouted as Derek reached the door.

  Derek didn’t respond as he left and walked over to his desk where he could look at the folder sent over from Connecticut.

  As expected, the file was thin. Which went along with what Josh Parish had said about the fire. The five deaths were listed, and after an inspection by the fire marshal, it was ruled an accident. Just like the three Abbot fires were sure to be ruled.

  “Pierce,” said someone behind him.

  Derek turned to see one of the newest detectives behind him. Eric Harper. Derek hadn’t worked with him that much, but the kid had an eye for detail, which was a must for this line of work. Even better, he’d grown up in some dicey areas and was able to talk to the users and abusers in a way that most rookies couldn’t wrap their heads around. The African-American Harper was taller than pretty much everyone else at the department at six foot five. He wasn’t the buffest guy, but he had endurance for days. If Derek ever needed to chase someone down, Harper was the guy he wanted on his side.

  And Derek was willing to bet that after a few years more on the force, Harper would add a good thirty pounds of muscle and then he’d really be a force to deal with.

  “What’s going on, Harper?”

  “The medical examiner was looking for you.”

  “Great, I’ll give him a call.”

  Harper held up a piece of paper. “He told me to give you this. He’s still finishing up the exam of the leg, but here are his initial findings.”

  “Thanks.” Derek took the paper and looked it over. The medical examiner’s handwriting was a bitch to decipher, but Derek was able to get through it. The man was suspected to be between thirty and forty and about six feet tall. That would narrow down the search. Also he’d had knee surgery at some point. Derek wondered how common knee surgery was in young guys like that.

  They were going to run a tox screen on the tissues and see whether there was anything else they could determine. The results should be in the next day.

  He still needed to go over the initial statements taken from the people officers had interviewed around the scene. Everyone claimed they had no knowledge of how the leg got there, but maybe someone had said something suspicious and Derek could bring them in for questioning. Until then, as eager as Voss was, he was going to have to wait until the tox screen and other analysis came back on the leg.

  Which meant he should probably go home and catch some sleep before the investigation took off. His gaze fell on the manila folder on the desk.

  Or maybe he could make a pit stop on the way home.

  Sam pulled off the unnatural-feeling suit jacket and set it on the kitchen island. Anywhere else, she’d feel strange setting clothing where food was prepared, but Abigail’s staff kept every square inch of the estate spotless. That island was probably cleaner than any spot in Sam’s apartment, and she had only lived at her new place for three months.

  “I’m glad you could make it.” Abigail walked in. For her standards, she was dressed casually. Instead of her normal designer slacks or suits, she was in designer skinny jeans and boots with a four-inch heel, giving her added height to an already tall woman. Her shirt was a creamy beige color that was just as light as her hair and her chunky, trendy jewelry looked the opposite of trendy.

  “It’s not like you never see me, Mom,” pointed out Sam. “And you do have my phone number.”

  “Like I said, my phone wasn’t working.”

  So she was sticking with that lie. At least she was consistent. “Well, your loving daughter is here. What did you want to talk about?”

  Abigail put a half offended expression on her face. “You’re my daughter. I always want to see you.”

  Was she really going to stretch this out? “Yes. But you specifically asked me here and I had the feeling you had something specific to talk about.”

  “Very well. Would you like some lemonade?”

  “No! Come on, Mom.”

  Abigail sighed and sat across from Sam. “It’s about Heather.”

  Sam blinked. Of the many judgmental directions she expected this to go, that wasn’t one of them. “What about her? I’m sure she’s off being perfect somewhere.”

  Abigail frowned. “Is that how you see your sister? Perfect?”

  “Well, let’s see.” Sam held up a closed fist. “She’s gorgeous.” Sam raised one finger. “She is best friends with every person she meets.” Sam raised a second finger. “You and she have a strangely close mother-daughter bond.” Sam held up a third finger. “She’s been better at using her magic than me since she was two years old.” Fourth finger went up. “And she’s been off touring the country to get even better at the magic I can’t even contain for three seconds. So please tell me what is wrong with Heather right now.”

  “You have one thing she doesn’t.”

  “Crippling self-doubt when it
comes to my powers?”

  “Your grandmother.”

  “Oh.” Sam frowned as she figured out where this was going. “I don’t have Claudia. No one has Claudia. I’m pretty sure Grandma thinks I’m a huge disappointment right now.”

  “You’d know if Mother thought you were a disappointment, believe me on this. But the fact is that she’s taken a personal interest in you and she barely sends a Christmas card to Heather.”

  Sam rubbed the back of her neck as she tried to wrap her head around the idea of Heather being jealous. “She’s one of the most confident witches—no, people—I know.”

  Abigail leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Heather is more like me than I ever imagined possible and she’s still so young. She tries so hard. Try to imagine working your entire life for praise, only to have it given to someone who doesn’t seem to want it.”

  “Claudia isn’t praising me—”

  Abigail held up a hand. “Try to see your sister. Bond. Laugh. Have fun. I’m very proud of both of you and would hate for this to cause a rift in the family. Family is all we have, Sam.”

  Well, now Sam knew Abigail was serious because she never used her nickname. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll give Heather a call and set something up. Maybe I can bring Claire too.”

  “The orphan you found?”

  Usually the word “orphan” wasn’t applied to people who were legally adults, but in the witch world, family ties were especially important. “I’m her only friend right now. Considering I’m a piss-poor example of what a witch should be, it would be nice for her to meet with someone who is actually a good example.”

  “I thought Jackson was working with her.”

  Another thing that had been bugging her. “Since when did Jackson start training anyone?”

  “It made sense. He’s an orphan too.”

  Sam’s jaw dropped. “What? That’s bull. He’s a Benedict.”

  “He was raised as a Benedict and has their name, but he’s not Temperance’s and Carl’s true son.”

  “I don’t get it. I’ve known Jackson since we were ten years old. Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

  Abigail snorted. “He was sleeping with a Harris. Why jeopardize that with the truth?”