Witches Can't Fly (Otherworld Crime Unit Book 3)

by Nova Archer

  “It is an artifact from ancient times. It’s worth quite a bit of money. I have many relics from different cultures in my collection. I see this one as no different.”

  “So it’s a possession and nothing more? You have no emotional attachment to it?”

  He leaned back in his chair eyeing her suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m just wondering what would possess a witch to keep something like this around. I know I could never have it in my home. It would constantly give me the creeps, knowing the potential for evil inside.”

  “It is not the thing which has dark power, Lyra but the person wielding it.”

  “I suppose.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, as if taking in everything about her face. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her so intensely. Could he see the nerves racing through her? Could he sense his presence was doing all kinds of delicious things to her body?

  His intense scrutiny made her shiver. “What?” she asked in exasperation.

  “I wonder why you regard me with such disdain.”

  “I don’t.” She forced her gaze down to the pages of the book, afraid of what he might see in her eyes. The air between them was growing thick again. Heated.

  “Then what is it in your eyes that is so potent when you look at me?”

  “Anger maybe.”

  “You are still mad at me for not giving you the book?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Or is it you are angry because I am here beside you, making you very nervous?”

  He seemed to have gotten closer to her without even moving. She could feel the heat of his body pressed intimately against hers. His aura was sparking with a multitude of colors like fireworks. Could that be what she was feeling surrounding her, caressing her skin like a lover?

  He possessed a lot of magical power. She could hear it humming like an electric razor building around him. Maybe his vampire side increased the flow of it. He frightened her on so many levels she couldn’t even contemplate them separately.

  “You don’t make me nervous.”

  “I make you something.” He touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers, tracing one down to her lips. “I can feel it skimming the surface of your skin. It’s hot, intense, powerful.”

  Gazing into his eyes, she should’ve pulled away. It would’ve been the smart thing to do in a situation like this. But she didn’t want to. Not this time. She liked the touch of his hand on her face, his magic prickled across her skin. And she wondered how it would feel in other places on her body—areas which had no business quivering in response to this man.

  Theron represented things she didn’t like in a man and in a witch—arrogance, self-importance and an irreproachable attitude. But still, from the very moment she saw him again, she’d felt drawn to him, as if he had some big part to play in her life. Maybe under all his upper-crust snobbery and conceit he possessed a redeeming heart and spirit.

  He leaned toward her mouth, his gaze glued to hers. Her lips tingled in anticipation of his kiss. Her whole body thrummed like plucked guitar strings waiting for the press of his lips. She knew it wouldn’t be gentle. He had too much passion for something as simple as that.

  The pentagram at her neck stared to vibrate and warm. Instinctively, she reached up for it and pressed her fingertips to it. Something was wrong

  She pulled away just as Caine marched into the room, a look of unease on his face.

  “Merde.” Sighing, Theron let his hand drop and he sat back in his chair.

  “What’s wrong, Chief?” Lyra asked.

  “There’s been another murder.”

  “I knew it was coming. I just knew it.” She rubbed her thumb over her amulet for comfort.

  Caine’s eyes narrowed and he leaned over the table. “Did you see it in a vision?”

  “Not really. I just...felt it.” Lyra could feel Caine probing her with his extrasensory perception. “Why? What are you looking for? What does it have to do with me?

  Drawing back, he rubbed a hand over his face. “You’ll see when we get there.”

  “I’ll get my kit.” Lyra stood as did Theron.

  “Is there something I can do?”

  “I don’t know. Is there?” Caine responded.

  “I can sense things.” Theron licked his lips. Lyra could see anxiety rushing through him. “When I touch a body I can get a sense of where that person was hours before.”

  “Could you sense that with me?” Lyra asked, concerned he could have some extra power over her. She didn’t want him to know that hours before she came to the analysis room she’d been in the washroom splashing cold water on her face and mumbling to herself about him.

  “Only the dead.” He drew a hand through his hair. “I helped in a murder case about four years ago. You can call Inspector Bellmonte to confirm that.”

  Caine stared at him for a few seconds. Lyra knew he was likely trying to read Theron’s emotions. And by the calm look on Theron’s face he had opened himself up for it, likely expecting it from the chief.

  “Okay,” Caine finally said. “Stick close to Lyra.”

  Lyra followed Caine out; Theron matched her stride for stride down the hallway. She glanced at him as they walked and saw a hard and stoic look on his face. His skin had grown pale. She could just imagine what he must be thinking.

  To know the dead was one gift she knew she’d never want. Knowing the living was enough.

  Black storm clouds rolled through the sky like a dark unraveling carpet. Lyra thought it convenient the sky’s emotions mimicked her own. Shivers radiated over her spine. Even the warmth from the SUV’s heater couldn’t chase them away as they pulled up to the crime scene.

  Both ends of an entire street had been cordoned off with yellow police tape. But it didn’t stop several morbid crime tourists from straining their necks to get a glimpse of the body. She envied them their distance because she was going to get close enough for the smell to permanently tattoo itself on the inside of her nasal cavity.

  One would think she’d be used to the smell by now after six years. But death was an odor no one should have to get used to.

  After she jumped out of the vehicle and grabbed her kit from the back, she glanced at Theron and wondered why he offered to help. It was obvious by the stony look on his face he wasn’t pleased about being here. He actually looked afraid.

  “Everyone ready?” Caine asked.

  Lyra grabbed Caine’s arm before he could walk away. “You’re keeping something from me. I can see it in your face when you look at me.”

  “I’m not trying to be cryptic, but I don’t want to taint your perception.” He set his hand over hers. “Just prepare yourself. You’ll get your answers when we get to the body.”

  Lyra let her hand fall and kit in hand followed Caine and Eve to the crime scene. Theron walked beside her, his eyes forward, a tick at his jaw. She had a sudden urge to smooth it away.

  When they reached the police tape, an officer lifted it for them and they went under. There were two people, a uniform she didn’t know and Captain Garner in faded jeans and leather jacket, standing by the plastic-covered body in the middle of the road.

  Mahina shook Caine’s hand. “Nice day, eh Valorian?”

  “I’ll keep my verdict until later.” Caine glanced up into the grumbling sky. “Let’s hope that doesn’t unleash on us quite yet.” He gestured behind him to Theron. “Captain Mahina Garner, this is Theron LeNoir. He’ll be helping us with the body.”

  The lycan nodded briskly to Theron then turned to look at Lyra. “It’s good to see you, Magice.”

  “You too, Captain.” The police captain’s warm greeting threw Lyra off. Mahina was not one to offer compliments or polite greetings freely. Something was definitely wrong. She started to fidget with her necklace, taking solace in its familiar smooth surface.

  “Okay, everyone take in a deep breath.” Mahina crouched down next to the body, gripped the side of the plastic tarp and lifted i
t.

  Eve gasped. “Oh dear, God.”

  Nothing could’ve prepared Lyra for what she saw lying on the concrete in front of her. She now knew why Caine hadn’t said anything. How could a person be prepared for something like this?

  Her whole body shook as she stared down at her face on a dead woman.

  Waxy blue-tinged skin and stiff from rigor, it was if she was looking down at herself in another time. It was as if she was staring down at a deathly mirror.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  She had to fight to stay upright. In fact, she had to fight to stay in that spot, when what she really wanted to do was turn and run.

  Theron set his hand on her shoulder, but said nothing. What could he say? There was nothing that could make this better, nothing that would still the way her body shook and the way her skin crawled.

  “I thought it was you,” Mahina said, looking at Lyra. “When I arrived at the scene and saw the victim, I called Caine right away to make sure you were still alive and kicking.”

  Caine looked from the body to Lyra. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

  And it was. So much it made her stomach clench and her throat ran dry.

  The victim had the same face, bone structure, hair color and style. If her eyes had been open, Lyra knew they’d be the same tawny brown.

  “Is it a coincidence?” Eve asked.

  Mahina shook her head. “Not likely. The victim’s hair has been hacked off recently. I’d say to match Lyra’s.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences.” Caine continued to stare at Lyra. “This is a warning.”

  Finally, Lyra reacted. Snapping out of her shock, she glared at Caine, anger surging through her veins. It was better than allowing the shock and fear to freeze her into inaction. Anger she knew. It was an emotion she had wrapped herself in long ago, as a way to deal with life’s unfairness. “You’re not taking me off this case.”

  “This killer isn’t messing around, Lyra. He knows who we are.”

  “We’re no more at risk then we usually are on a case.”

  “Jace nearly died when he was attacked in San Antonio. I won’t have the same thing happen to you.”

  “I can take care of myself. My magic is strong.”

  “His is stronger.”

  Lyra swiveled around and glared at Theron. He hadn’t met her gaze but still gazed down at the body. His face was paler than normal, drawn in, haunted.

  “Black magic is strong, Lyra. Binding spells and simple charms are no match to its power.”

  Her fingers twitched eager to invoke a spell to purge her emotions. “I have more than simple charms in my arsenal, dhampir. So I’d watch what you say if you don’t want to end up as something slimy.”

  Caine took a step forward his hand up as if to ward off an attack. The action was futile. If Lyra wanted to toss a spell there’d be nothing stopping her. “If you weren’t alone all the time...”

  That had her eyes sparking. “You want to take me off the damn case because I’m single?” she hissed.

  “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Then what are you saying, Chief? Because I really want to know.”

  “Let me assign someone,” his gaze brushed fleetingly over Theron, “for your protection.”

  “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

  “A police presence then, when you’re not at the lab.”

  She glanced at Theron, at the body, then back to Caine. “Fine. But no one is coming in my house. They can stay out in the car.”

  “Agreed.” Snapping on latex gloves, he gestured toward the scene. “Now, let’s do this before the sky opens up.”

  “Too late.” Mahina had her palm turned toward the sky.

  The first fat drops of rain splattered Lyra on the nose and cheek. A slice of white lightening dissected the black clouds confirming Mahina’s statement. The boom of thunder followed in its wake. The rumbling sound prompted the crew to action.

  Caine, Eve and Mahina scrambled to get more tarps over the body and area. Lyra raised her hands, palms out, toward the crime scene. She knew a protection spell which would save the integrity of the scene. Mumbling words under her breath, the beginnings of a yellow glow started at her fingers, but the spell wasn’t strong enough. The rain was coming too fast.

  Theron noticed the glow on Lyra’s hands, but he could tell instantly the spell wouldn’t be strong or quick enough to protect the area. He moved in behind her, pressing intimately against her back and placed his hands on top of hers.

  Instantaneously, their magic mingled together into a ball of heated light. He could feel it prickle across his hands and up his arms. It was both exhilarating and frightening to experience.

  She flinched from his intrusion but didn’t stop mumbling the words of the spell. He could feel her unease with him so near but knew their mixed power would incant the spell faster. Gritting his teeth, Theron forced his magic from his hands and into Lyra’s.

  Years before, he had attempted to mix his magic with another’s. It had had disastrous effects. Effects he still had nightmares about. That was when he’d been dabbling in black magic. Undisciplined and naïve, he’d attempted to do a spell that would give great power—power to rival his father’s. But it had gone all wrong and his young, eager apprentice had been hurt. Shaking his head, he pushed the memory from his mind. He couldn’t think about it now.

  But this magic felt different. He didn’t experience the same cold dread but a feeling of euphoria. He became light-headed and his stomach flipped over but not in fear or revulsion. He almost felt giddy with it.

  Finally after a few more seconds, there was an audible popping sound and a protection bubble formed over the body and crime scene in a ten-foot radius. The rain splattered against it and ran down its invisible domed sides.

  Dropping his hands, Theron moved away from Lyra. His skin still tingled and he rubbed his hands against the sleeves of his jacket. He was uncertain how he felt about her magic still lingering on him. It wasn’t unpleasant, and that was part of the problem.

  “Good work you two.” Mahina gave them the thumbs up and went about marking a search grid around the body.

  Lyra glanced over her shoulder. “Thanks.” He noticed she too rubbed her hands against the legs of her pants. His magic was obviously still sticking. By the look on her face, she was unnerved about it as well.

  “You’re welcome.”

  He watched her as she moved away from him and started her work. Efficiently, she stepped through the crime scene taking pictures and collecting evidence. He admired her ability to do this every day. It was obvious she had the tenacity and the desire for the job. He didn’t think he could do it. Well, he knew he couldn’t. After working a few cases with Inspector Bellmonte, hadn’t Theron told him not to call him again? That he was done helping the police.

  So, why had he volunteered this time? Watching Lyra gave him his answer. It was because of her. In some way he wanted to impress her, despite her prickly demeanor toward him.

  “Theron,” Caine called. The vampire gestured him over to the body. “I’m done here. It’s your turn.”

  Cautiously, Theron knelt down on the other side of the body. It was difficult to look at her and not see Lyra lying there, cold and unmoving. Dead and decaying. He had to swallow down the bile rising in his throat. It wouldn’t do anyone any good, if he all of sudden lost his breakfast all over the crime scene.

  With the victim uncovered, he could see what had been done to her. Symbols had been painted on her torso in red. Blood, he assumed. He recognized some of them from his book.

  Now, he could truly understand why Lyra had been so adamant about using his tome. Why she had resorted to stealing it from him in the first place.

  “Are you ready?”

  Lifting his gaze from the victim’s body, Theron nodded. He wasn’t ready, not by a long shot. How could anyone be ready for what he said he would do?

  Caine handed him a latex glove.

  “I have to tou
ch her skin. It doesn’t work through any type of barrier.”

  “I’ll have to fingerprint you later for the file.” Caine shoved the glove back into his coat pocket.

  “That’s fine.” Taking a deep breath, Theron spread his fingers out and placed them one by one along the girl’s cheekbone.

  She was like waxy ice. The urge to pull his hand away itched at his skin. The feel of her flesh made his stomach roil. To stop from retching, he had to open his mouth to breathe.

  Pressing hard, he searched for the residual thread of memory that usually hung around after death. Spiritual energy was the last thing to exit after death. Sometimes it could even hang around for days or weeks. And in some rare instances forever.

  “Getting anything?” Caine asked.

  “Nothing yet, but—,”

  His hand grew colder and his breath came out in puffs of steam. A rush of images peppered his mind like a barrage of bullets from a machine gun.

  Silver frost. White plastic. Streaks of red.

  “A freezer. She’s in a freezer like a piece of meat.”

  “The coroner suspected as much,” Caine responded. “What else?”

  More images came to him but they were running backwards like film frames spliced in reverse.

  “Gray cement. An oil stain.”

  “Like in a garage?” Caine prompted.

  Theron nodded. “I see a tire on a vehicle.”

  “Can you see a make? Can you see a vehicle?”

  “I see a three-pointed silver star in the center. There’s a reflection in the hubcap. A car in a dark color. Black or dark blue.”

  Again the images changed. Theron felt like he was being yanked backwards through a doorway. Mentally he tried to hang on to the last memory but it disappeared quickly replaced by something else.

  Outside in the trees. Night. The moon is almost full. Theron could smell wet grass and trees.

  “There’s a bunch of trees. A clearing.”

  His heart started to race and despite the cool misty air, sweat trickled down his back. He felt like he’d been running in the night. His lungs burned from the exertion.