“I found this at the last scene, lying open to a page with three addresses on it. Our best bet is that he’s headed for one of these right now. We need to split into teams and each take an address to catch him before he hurts someone else.”
Hamilton clapped his hands, providing the beginning of a round of applause for me, and everyone joined in except for Rourke and Benjamin, who kept their arms firmly folded against their chests.
“Questions?” Hands went up, and Hamilton picked one of them like it was a schoolroom and he was the teacher.
“How do we stop him from transferring into us?”
“According to what I read about the spell,” I said, fielding the answer, “he needs not only to recite the inscription, but he must have skin-to-skin contact with his victim and be wearing the amulet. Best defenses are to not let him touch you or speak, or to take the pendant from him.”
“What if he’s violent?” someone else asked.
“I am not authorizing extreme force at this point,” Hamilton said.
“Absolutely not,” I agreed, squeaking with surprise. “If he dies, he could start a chain reaction that causes all the other people he’s been through to die as well. Same with his original body—as long as they keep it alive, we’ll be able to reverse this without too much difficulty.”
“How do we know if we’ve been taken over?” Benjamin asked, trying to be clever. I glared at him.
“Well, as he’s in a woman right now, you’ll know ’cause you’ll have boobs; but then again, you might not notice the difference.” There was a roar of laughter that made me feel justified, and Benjamin shrank back into his chair, glowering at his fellows around him. Hamilton patted me on the back and gave me one of the addresses written down on a little piece of paper.
“I take one, I’ll give the last to Rourke. Who do you want to go with you?”
“I’ll take LeBron and one of yours.”
He nodded and signaled to a man I recognized from earlier. His name was Carlson. He had short brown hair under his cap and his uniform was pristine, but he seemed young, maybe just over twenty like myself. He smiled at me and I gave him a nod.
“LeBron, you’re on my team,” I said, waving my hand toward the door. LeBron stood, but Rourke rose quickly, placing her hand on his arm. He went very still like a deer in the headlights.
“LeBron is one of my people; you don’t just take him.”
LeBron looked to me for help. I rolled my eyes and turned back to face Rourke. She looked at her hand on LeBron’s arm, releasing him slowly.
“Must I ask your permission to play with your toys, Rourke? Or can we get on with catching the bad guy—time is precious.”
“Fine. LeBron, keep her out of trouble.”
I gave her a mock bow and strolled out of the room, followed by Carlson and LeBron. I turned back to them, giving them my best businesslike smile.
“All right, fellas, introductions. Carlson, LeBron, and you can call me Cassandra.” I turned to LeBron and gave him a little wink. “Well, you already knew that. We need a car, and this is our address.”
I gave the piece of paper to Carlson, who looked it over.
“I’ll get a car and meet you outside in the parking lot in ten minutes,” he said with a nod of his head and hurried off. LeBron took his place at my side, and we walked down together.
“Thanks for getting me out from there. You know I can’t turn on her—she’s my boss.”
“Yeah, I know. That woman has more issues than National Geographic.”
LeBron smiled.
“How are things going with the P.I. biz?”
“Good. Got my office up and running, just had the plumbing completed. Got my name on the door, but I’m still waiting on the sign for outside the building. I can’t decide on a symbol to use; once I do, I can get stationary and matching business cards. I just have some basic white ones at the moment.” LeBron laughed a little and then tried to make his face go straight. I punched him in the shoulder.
“Behave. I’m enjoying it.”
“I can see that.”
I hit him again and marched out the doors ahead of him. The car was sitting there waiting as we did, and we headed off toward the address.
Chapter Sixteen
It was just starting to get dark when we pulled up outside 5 Love’s Grove; foliage shadowed the house so that you couldn’t see any of the windows from the road. I was sitting in the back of the squad car, staring up at the house through the window, and I couldn’t even see any lights on. Carlson made the same observation only out loud.
“It looks really dark; think they’re home?”
“Best way to find out is to just go up and ring the bell.” I tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge; I glared at the two in the front. “One of you is going to have to let me out.”
Carlson smiled at LeBron, who tried to hide his own grin.
“You think we should let her out? She might go up there and get herself hurt.”
I leaned close to the glass that divided the front and back seats and rapped on it softly to gain their attention. They both turned to look at the murderous expression in my eyes.
“You let me out or I blow the door off, and you’ll have to explain it to your superiors.”
“I better do it, man. She’s serious,” LeBron said, “I’ve seen her do shit you would not believe.” He got out of the passenger side and opened the door for me. I stepped out and looked around; the gate up the path was open, and trash bags lined the wall outside. The house seemed strangely quiet for the time of day. Even if all the occupants worked, at least one of them should be home now. Carlson stayed sitting behind the wheel, only leaning over to roll down the passenger window.
“They might have gone out. I’ll wait here in case they come back.”
“LeBron and I will go up to the house then,” I said, shaking my head and heading straight up the path. LeBron stayed close behind me. He looked at the blank windows. As we moved closer, we could see a light on, maybe just a lamp.
“What’s the likelihood that this guy will be lying in wait?”
“I don’t think so. If he’s not here doing what he wants, then he would probably head for one of the other addresses, come back here at another time. I don’t think he really wants to kill as many as possible; I think he just wants to get to the guy in the throne.”
“This isn’t a sane way to deal with your grief,” he said, shaking his head.
“Grief isn’t rational, LeBron, and we’re talking about the guy who, when his wife chose to take her own life, hunted down the men who abused her and killed them. And he somehow got his lawyer to get it down to manslaughter.”
“Good lawyer.”
“Very good lawyer.”
I rang the doorbell. It echoed back through the house, but no one answered the call to the door. LeBron peered in through the downstairs window; it was dark, so I doubted he could see much.
“Well, their lounge doesn’t have a coffee table,” he said, walking back to my side.
“Well, won’t he be disappointed,” I said with a smirk. Something twitched in the corner of my eye, just a small flicker of movement in my peripheral vision. I scanned the house and focused on an upstairs window. I leaned forward and pressed the doorbell again, holding it down. It trilled loudly.
“I don’t think anyone is home, Cassandra.”
“Someone’s in—a curtain upstairs moved. Whoever is in there knows we’re down here.”
LeBron nodded and checked the gun on his belt; I reached over, touching his hand.
“No lethal force—remember, chain reactions!”
LeBron nodded again and drew his hand back, stuffing it into his jacket pocket. A light came on in the hall. They couldn’t have possibly been asleep; it was too early in the da
y. I heard the lock click, and the door drew back to the length of a chain. The face of a boy peered out; he was a gangly-looking lad of no more than sixteen or seventeen. He was spotty and awkward, trying to keep his hands and his body safely behind the door.
“Can I help you?”
I reached into my pocket to pull out my ID and the kid didn’t even flinch, even though he’d gotten a good eyeful of the gun LeBron was carrying. He was very steely eyed for a teenager. I let my ID drop down to flash my credentials at him. He scanned it briskly.
“My name is Cassandra Farbanks. I’m a Paranormal Investigator. Are your parents home?”
“No.” He shook his head. “They went out. I was just playing on my X-Cube.”
“Oh, well, do you mind if we come in for a minute to talk to you about something? Just a few questions?”
I watched him think about it, shoot a look at LeBron and then back to me. I gave him a small but warm smile. He shut the door; there was a click of the chain, and he opened it again. He stood aside, letting us into the hallway.
“You so practice that thing with your ID,” LeBron whispered. I grinned. The boy showed us into the living room, fumbling for the light for a minute as he did so. I watched him take a seat; he didn’t slouch or twirl his hair or any number of things I would put down to the affectations of a teenage boy. LeBron sat on the couch while I remained standing. I looked at the picture on the wall of the family. The son was in a grunge phase—he stood at the edge of photos looking miserable. As in the photos, he had such lank, greasy hair that you couldn’t tell what color it actually was. He was in baggy jeans with a T-shirt that was mostly black but had a fiery band logo on it.
“We were in the neighborhood because we’re looking for a woman,” I said very softly. “Red hair, green eyes, freckles.”
The boy nodded, and I watched him carefully; I could almost see his brain gears clinking together.
“Yes, I’ve seen her,” he said, “she came to the door about an hour ago. I told her that my parents were out.”
“And what happened then?” LeBron asked, taking out his notepad. He engaged the kid in a detailed description of exactly what happened and what was said. I took a step closer to him, sliding my hand close to LeBron’s face so I could press a finger to his temple. I concentrated on him and his thoughts alone. He twitched a little as the connection was made.
Don’t react. Something isn’t right. Keep the kid talking; I’m going to try to take a look around. Out loud I said, “I’m sorry to ask, but do you have a bathroom I can use?”
The kid looked between us nervously but swallowed, reclaiming composure.
“Sure,” he said with a genial smile, “top of the stairs right in front of you.”
I thanked him as I left the room, heading up the stairs. The bathroom was right at the top with the door open, so I closed it loudly to make it sound like I’d gone in, but I stepped to the right to check out a bedroom. On the door was a yellow biohazard sign that read “Keep Out!” I opened the door as quietly as I could and looked inside. It was the boy’s room. It was completely dark; the only light came from a lava lamp and a TV screen. His floor was littered with old cartons of takeout food, discarded clothes—of varying ages and smells—and some books. The TV screen was frozen on a game I recognized as Soul Reaver. A vampire game. It was on X-Box. He’d called it an X-Cube. He had a pile of games, and you’d think a serious gamer would be able to get the name of his console correctly. Something was definitely not right.
I crept back out of the bedroom and looked across the hall. There were two other bedrooms. Walking as carefully as I could so as not to make noise, I looked down the stairs and could still hear voices in the living room. I went for the farthest bedroom first. I opened the door enough so I could slip into the room, and the first thing that hit me was the smell of blood. It was a metallic copper smell that made my nose burn. Someone in this bedroom had been bleeding heavily. I couldn’t see a body, but the room was dark, and the only thing that stood out in the darkness was the bed. I walked over to it, careful not to make a sound on the floor, and pulled back the duvet. There was a dark stain on the sheets, I touched my fingers to it and came away with blood on them; it was still wet. It was enough blood to have come from a full-sized adult, and it was probably enough to indicate the victim was dead.
I turned around to leave and saw there were two doors on the wall, both open slightly; which one had I come in through? I opened the closest and stepped through. My heel clicked on tile. I let my eyes adjust slightly, and I could see it was an en suite bathroom. I grabbed a towel and wiped the blood from my fingers, almost screaming when I saw a figure in the shower. I covered my mouth and held it in. The body was slumped down in the bottom of the shower. I opened the door quickly and checked for a pulse. The man was dead; there were fewer wounds on him, as if the torture had been interrupted and the death blow had been administered quickly to take care of him. The blood still seeped lazily from the wound in his chest and the body was still warm, but there was no pulse; he was far beyond any help I could provide. That left the last bedroom. So far, Petrovich had not killed a woman. Not at a single scene had there been any indication that he would bring harm to a woman. We had interrupted him by arriving like this; he might have panicked and just killed the wife to shut her up. I didn’t like the thought. I stepped out of the bedroom, not even listening for sounds from downstairs anymore. If Petrovich was in the kid, which I highly suspected he might be from his lack of teenage attitude, LeBron could handle him.
I opened the door to the guest bedroom, prepared for the smell of yet more blood, but there wasn’t any. I could see better now in the dark, having had a while to adjust to the lack of lights, and the sun was long gone now. There was a double bed in the center and two figures lying on it. I hurried over to the bed to check their pulses, and as I touched the neck of the second woman, she moved. Gwynne Banks twisted and squirmed as she felt my fingers on her neck. The other woman, though alive, had been severely bashed on the head. She would definitely be out of it for a while. I turned Gwynne’s body to sit up; her mouth was covered with duct tape and her wrists bound behind her back with it. I waited till her eyes focused on me and placed a finger to my lips. She was instantly still. I leaned close to her ear.
“My name is Cassandra. I’m going to untie you, okay? You untie her and keep quiet. He’s still in the house.”
Gwynne nodded, and I ripped at the tape on her wrists. Duct tape was the arch nemesis of all damsels in distress. It’s bloody hard to get through; no wonder criminals use it so much. It took longer than I liked to get her hands free, and she instantly went about trying to get the tape off her mouth when there was a loud crash from downstairs. We both froze for a minute, then Gwynne became frantic with movement. I turned to look at her and put my finger back to my lips. She stilled, and I stepped back to the door, looking out.
“I’ll be right back. Get free, but don’t leave this room till I come back for you.”
I passed through the door to the corridor and shut it quietly behind me. I reached for the handle of the bathroom door, pushing it back open, and reached in, jangling the handle of the toilet. The system emptied loudly. I was pretending to still have just gone to the loo, which I realized later was a mistake because it let him know I was headed back down the stairs. I took them normally, heading cautiously back into the living room. The light was off, and a figure lay sprawled on the carpet. I skidded down to one knee to check who it was. LeBron was lying facedown, and he’d been hit over the head with what looked to be a vase. There were broken pieces of it all around him. Maybe the kid had hit LeBron and made a run for it. No, I was never so lucky. I raised my hands and called my power up.
“Lights.”
The lights came back on, blinding me for a second, and I was rushed by the kid. He growled in fury and slammed me to the floor. He tried to grab my head, to smack i
t against the floor, knock me out, but I got my arms between us and focused enough to use my magic to propel him away from me. He flew in an arch through the air, over LeBron’s unconscious body and into the couch, which toppled over backwards.
I got clumsily to my feet; the wind was knocked out of me, but I was preparing to use a spell to bind him. I started the words but didn’t get a chance to finish. The kid was up and rushed me like a rugby player, sending us both flying through the pane of a glass door that led through into a dining room. The glass shattered with our weight, and I felt shards of it poke through my clothes and into my skin. It hurt and I screamed as his weight landed on top of me, forcing them deeper in. I groaned for a minute with him still lying on top of me. He’d knocked the wind out of himself; he wasn’t as strong as he would be as a full-grown man. I took a deep breath, trying to focus through the pain, and started the binding spell again. He reared up at my words and, grabbing a shard of glass in his right hand, drove it down hard into my shoulder. I screamed, losing all focus, and I could feel the blood pumping out of me, running down my shoulder and soaking into my clothes.
“Son of a bitch,” I cursed him. He stood above me again, brushing himself off; he was relatively unharmed.
“You had to make me hurt you,” he said angrily at me. I growled and motioned to kick him in the knee, hoping I could put enough force behind it to pop the joint. My foot was about to crash down on his knee when I felt all the power go out of it; I had remembered Petrovich was inside an innocent kid. My kick became only enough to make him stumble and fall back on his butt. I tried to sit up, but movement was agony. I didn’t know how much of the glass had gone into my back, and I was losing blood alarmingly quickly. I raised my arm, pointing my hand directly toward the living room window, and felt the fire in me, felt it surround my hand.
Petrovich had managed to get himself up to his knees just in time to see as a ball of flame shot through the air, through the glass of the window and exploded like a firework in the middle of the yard. If that didn’t get Carlson’s attention out in the squad car, I didn’t know what would. Petrovich got to his feet hurriedly, leaping through the empty wooden frame of the door, over me and heading for the back door. I fell back to the ground and cried out as pain shot through me, so intense that my eyes stayed open barely long enough to see Carlson come bursting in through the living room, gun drawn.
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