by Amber Kallyn
The suppressed memories had resurfaced for only one reason.
Because of her.
The Council investigator.
Anca Fieraru.
Restless and not wanting to fall back to sleep, Matt got up and ate. It was barely five in the morning. He called the hospital to check on his few patients. All was well in the hands of the capable nurses. He left messages for the other doctors, begging off his shifts the next two days. They'd cover for him.
By six the sun was on the rise.
Matt should be out searching for the Rogues, not resting at home. There were still hours to kill before meeting the Council's investigator at the diner. But as he looked around his empty house and its dark subdued colors, Matt found himself itching to leave.
Perhaps Anca was also awake.
They could get started early.
The faster he showed her around, the sooner he'd be rid of her.
Decided, he changed from his slacks and shirt to jeans, a t-shirt and hiking boots. He wasn't going to damage another expensive pair of loafers or pants if he could help it.
He stopped by the sheriff's station and picked up copies of the recent reports Anca mentioned she needed. Then he headed out of town. He could reach her camp in less than half an hour.
And if he could finish showing her around today, he'd be done with the entire disturbing mess.
Encouraged, he hurried to her shaded campsite, stopping just outside the two trees where she'd opened her wards yesterday. "Miss Fieraru? Anca?" he called. "It's Matt Dixon, from last night. You awake? We can go now if you're ready."
The air around him stirred, plucked at his t-shirt. His hair.
A low steady hum of magic vibrated once, twice, and faded.
Anca strode out from the tent. Her tight jeans, and another billowy ruffly blouse draping across generous curves, struck him mute for a long moment. Again she'd pulled her long dark hair back into a thick braid.
The urge to see it down, unbound and falling around her, blindsided him.
Anca stopped just on the other side of her wards. "Wasn't the plan to meet in town a few hours from now?"
"It was."
"Want me out of your hair as fast as you can?" She sounded rather agreeable to the idea, which didn't sit right with some strange part of him.
And how did she read him so well? Only Jordan had that ability.
CHAPTER FOUR
Rested now, Anca was able to read Matt Dixon much clearer.
And her first thought was that the King had spoken true about Matt's strength.
He could be Master of his own clan and territory if he wanted. So why was he here, as a subordinate, instead?
Getting the real answer would be tricky, but she'd figure him out. Even if it meant acting a bit friendly, get him to open up a little. Because she needed to determine if he was the clan's traitor or not. And she needed to figure it out fast.
Preferably before they found themselves in the position where their lives were on the line.
"Give me a minute." She slipped into her tent and tied her short curved saif to the belt at her waist.
The metal and leather sheath bumped reassuringly against the side of her leg. She ran her fingers over the delicately jeweled hand guard, just above the bluish sheen of Damascus steel. It had been the last sword her tată ever made. Her father, a master smith highly sought, even by royalty.
Shaking off the painful thoughts, Anca left the tent and strode outside her wards, then reset the magical security.
Matt walked beside her through the trees. Silence settled easily between them. Birds called out, flittered along the interwoven branches overhead. Small animals scurried through the bushes. The earth spirits danced, their sparking magic flickering energetically.
As always, Anca automatically disguised her steps, becoming almost one with nature and the earth's spirits.
Steady and silent like the patient thief.
Matt's bootfalls were nearly as quiet as her own. Hard to do.
Begrudgingly, she admitted it was slightly impressive.
He'd changed from his dressy business attire to a t-shirt and jeans that fit him like a second skin, highlighting a muscled frame only hinted at before. Today, he radiated strength and power. The well-worn hiking boots said he was probably as comfortable in nature as his office. All in all, it gave him a rugged masculinity she'd missed during their first meeting.
Then again, she'd been a bit out of it.
His dark features definitely hinted at Spaniard. If her intuition was correct—and with her ability to read another's aura and magic, it usually was—Anca would peg him around her own age. Born near the early fifteen hundreds.
That made sense with what MacDougal had said.
And yet, Matt's aura blended with the earth around them, which meant he'd been in this land long enough to synch with the place.
Another interesting idea. And thought provoking.
At the lake's public parking, Matt studied the nearly empty lot. "You have a vehicle?"
She pointed to the only other car there, a small, two door coupe the rental company had offered.
Matt straightened to his full height, looked down at her and sneered. He strode to his large SUV, opened the passenger door and waited silently. When they reached town, he surprised Anca by pulling into the diner's lot.
He grabbed a stack of tan files and tapped the edges to straighten them. "We should eat. Keep our energy up. It's going to be a busy morning, I hope."
She considered him, then shrugged. "Food would be helpful." She'd eaten after waking, just before dawn, but he was right. With everything going on in this town recently, there was no telling what they'd find.
Inside the old-school diner, they once more sat at the tall counter. This time, Matt perused the menu with her. After they ordered and the waitress brought two cups of coffee, he slid the neat stack of files toward her.
"What are these?" She started to flip the top one open, but he slapped a hand on them.
"Reports on the most recent murders, from the Keeper, as you requested. Be careful. There are photographs no one else in this place should see."
Anca nodded her understanding, and opened the first folder carefully. She read the thorough notes to be sent to the Magic Council.
Matt summarized as she read. "You should have gotten reports up to the murders that occurred in the past weeks—one mortal, one vampire, two wolves." Then he mumbled, "That's just the tip of the iceberg if you tally up all the deaths in and around town since Montgomery arrived."
When Anca came to the crime scene photographs, she angled the files closer to her body. The food arrived, but she ignored it, unable to eat just yet.
She looked over the pictures closely. On all of these victims, like those killed previously by this particular group of Rogues, the wounds showed signs of animal—wolf shifter no doubt—and vampire attacking together.
Snapping the files closed, Anca pushed them to the side, then mechanically picked up her fork. Her stomach churned. All hints of hunger had fled.
To take her mind off the dark thoughts of the victims, and all they must have suffered, she said, "The Council is nervous about the local reports of vampires and wolves working together. Specifically, killing together."
Stories were spreading through the Council like wildfire. Stories of growing conflicts between Arcaine races, even some who'd lived in peace for centuries. During her most recent discussion with Elder Endulpias, he'd warned that many creatures were turning away from using magic for good.
It was why the Council was stretched so thin and Judges kept busy. Why she'd been on back-to-back jobs with barely a free weekend before that.
Worse were the hints of whispers the Elder had refused to comment on. Whispers of Council investigators, even Judges going missing. Turning up dead.
Accepting such ideas seemed ludicrous.
And yet...
They lived in ominous times. Anca wasn't quite certain she was prepared f
or what the future planned to bring.
Matt merely shrugged in reply. "I don't see why the Council would worry. It's only Montgomery's remaining Rogues."
She raised a brow. "Similar things seem to be happening all over the world."
He stared into his coffee cup, hidden thoughts flying over his face. Then he muttered something that might have been, "The old witch was right. War is coming."
"War?" Anca asked, sharper than intended.
Matt froze for a nearly imperceptible second before meeting her gaze with a blank look. "What do you mean, war?"
She scowled. "That's what I asked you. You said war is coming. What war? What witch?"
Matt shook his head. "You're the one who asked about war, not me." Giving his plate his undivided attention, he took a bite, filling his mouth.
Confusion stirred, an emotion she wasn't much used to. As a Judge, life tended to be straightforward. She also wasn't used to doubting her own senses, but she suddenly couldn't read this man at all. Not even his aura gave her a hint.
But if there was a war coming, she'd find out. She'd not leave here until the doubt was completely gone on the matter.
Anca finished her coffee, then got back to the current problem. "I need to see the most recent crime scenes. I'll work my way back through time from there."
His glance was sharp. "What exactly do you want at those places? The sheriff didn't find anything."
"It's how I work." It tended to be difficult to explain her Romani magic to others. The ability to not just see other's auras, but to feel their magic, like a brush over all of her senses at once.
She heard the whispers from the earth spirits, tasted the power of those around her, smelled the darkness that always dwelled just out of reach of the light. She could read an individual's magical remnants, almost ghostly afterimages of an Arcaine's presence.
And if she could pinpoint these Rogues' magics, she could use it to track them. The best place to get a handle on them would be the most recent places they'd knowingly been. The places they'd dumped their victims.
Matt ran a hand through his collar-length dark hair, leaving it distractingly mussed. "All right then."
Concentrating only on the job, she stated, "The most recent first."
Instead of driving, Matt led her on foot through the small town. Soon, the roads widened. Storefronts became warehouses. Near one large building, he stopped.
He didn't need to point to the dark stains on the ground to tell her where the victim had been left.
A lingering pall of violence and darkness prickled over Anca's senses.
Matt drew closer, disrupting the remnants of magic.
Her mind spun as layers of the past fell over her. "Step back and stay out of my way," she said abruptly.
He gave her a hard look, but moved up to the sidewalk along the building without comment.
Old magics of passing Arcaine mixed with the power of the earth spirits—weaker in town as expected—before washing over her.
Her clothes were tugged by invisible hands, a few spirits rising up to show her what they thought she should see.
She felt the magic in this town as a gentle tingling caress on her skin. Beneath it was a scratching prickle, from the evil done here. She heard the whisper of distant music—singing birds, chirping insects, the wind rustling through leaves. She tasted the bite in the air. Smelled the recent death, it's stench growing stronger the more she searched.
The colors of magic rose around her. Yellows, golds and greens from the earth, pale, faded, here among the concentration of townspeople and industrialization.
A thin strand of glacial blue lay tangled throughout the bloodstain. It had the same look and feel as the magic she'd memorized earlier, from the men Matt pointed out as belonging to the local pack. "A pack shifter was the victim?"
"Yes."
Anca focused on the pale remnants surrounding the blood. Thick bands of the strong rosy-peach of mortals rose in layers upon layers. Probably the police who'd investigated the scene.
One band stood out, its mortal hues twined with a shockingly bright ribbon in a rainbow of colors. It reminded her of the sweetly-bitter taste of the Council's power. Had to be the local Keeper of the Peace. She needed to talk to him. Soon.
Of the magics that could only belong to the murdering Rogues, she sensed almost nothing.
The faintest of light gray flecked with pink from a vampire. Another almost invisible thread. She could only guess the white lines might have once been the silvery blue of a wolf shifter.
Unlike the victim's clear residual presence, the attacking shifter's magic was as faint as the vampire's.
Finally, she faced Matt.
"Find anything?" He hooded his gaze too fast for her to read him.
"No. It's all too faint." Though it shouldn't be. Especially not for her.
No one could hide their magic from a Judge. She could see through such things. This appeared more like something had washed the residual magic away—but only that of the Rogues. Highly unlikely. "I'll try the other places here in town, but I might not get much in the midst of so many townspeople. I do better in nature."
He nodded as if he understood, then led her from east to the west, crisscrossing up and down as they hit the reported crime scenes. She didn't find anything more than at the first site.
Frustration welled inside her. The sun quickened its path across the sky, soon reaching its zenith. Matt guided her down empty alleyways and mostly deserted streets.
After a while, he asked about her magic.
For some reason, Anca found she didn't mind answering. She tried, only to finish with, "It's hard to explain. It's Romani magic."
On a road lined with apartment complexes, he stopped at the entrance to another alley.
This victim had been one of the clan vampires. There were a few more hints of magic here, probably since the body had been left a few feet inside and along one brick wall. Not many had walked through contaminating it.
And whatever had blocked the traces of the Rogues at the other sites wasn't in full effect here.
Both the gray-crimson strands of vampire and the ice blue of wolf were clear, tangled around the bloodstains.
The Rogues had definitely combined strengths, Arcaine working with Arcaine. Nothing the council hadn't already known. But she got a slightly better look at their magics.
A feel she'd not forget.
Matt leaned against the opposite wall, watching her work while staying out of the scene. "So you have Gypsy magic?"
Her reply was cool. "If you choose to call it such."
"Don't like the term?"
"It depends on how you mean it. It's clear you don't like me." Watching him instead of studying the scene, she rested a hand on her hip.
Lips twisting into a defensive scowl, he met her gaze. "I don't dislike you."
"Don't you?"
"No." He stepped away from the wall. "I despise those you work for. I dislike being assigned to babysit you. But until you show you intend to harm someone here, I have no specific grudge against you personally."
"Babysit me?" She raised a brow. "And you imply you expect me to what? Suddenly start trying to kill everyone around here?"
He paled a shade as she struck a nerve.
His earlier comments came back, about watching a Judge destroy whole villages, killing all, including the innocent. Of the destruction of home. And the heart.
She wondered again at his words, and their meaning for him.
For she'd also lived through such a thing. The devastation of it remained in the depths of her soul.
Old, yet still raw emotion in his honey eyes held her captive.
A strange familiarity, a shocking glimpse of understanding passed between them.
Other thoughts coalesced in Anca's mind, painting a larger picture of who this man might be.
Trusting her instincts, she asked, "Where were you born?"
"Spain." He scowled, as if surprised he'd answered.
"I thought you had the look of a Spaniard." And it confirmed most of her suspicions. "Your King said you're about half his age. So born somewhere around the end of the fifteenth century, yes?"
"1472. So what? What does that have to do with anything?"
"What year were you turned?"
"1504." His voice dropped to a harsh whisper.
She slowly crossed to Matt and leaned against the wall, near where he'd recently stood. For a long moment, the silence stretched taut.
Anca broke it softly. "There is a story well known throughout the Council. A tale of Spain in the late fourteen hundreds."
He tensed, looking away. His jaw tightened.
Though it went against what she thought she should do, Anca's instincts propelled her to lay a hand on his arm. She felt the strangest need. To comfort him. "The story tells of a group of Judges who broke from the Council and rampaged across your homeland."
He snorted in disbelief. "Broke from the Council? You're trying to tell me they weren't sanctioned?"
"Yes." At his flinch, she softened her tone even more. "The story continues that two of the Judges disappeared without a trace. The third brought an army of vampiric conquistadors to the New World, in search of the riches of Cibola. And a vast supply of blood."
"Francisco Vázquez de Coronado," Matt spat harshly. "At least, that was the last name that damned bastardo was known by."
A few things became all too clear fir Anca.
Coronado had been well known for his bloodlust. A vampire Judge who'd broken from the Laws of the Arcaine, the tales of how he made a legion of vampires to serve him were full of nightmares.
With barely a sound, she asked, "Were you one of Coronado's vampires?"
"I was."
"He turned you?"
"He did."
"He was one of the Judges you watched destroy villages?"
"He was."
"And here, in this new world, you were one of his conquistadors, fighting alongside him." The statement held no blame.
For those who survived and woke as a vampire, the first battle was against the all consuming lust for blood.
Then the fight to control all their newly awakening powers, before the magic burned them up.
