Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Other works by SM Blooding
Dedication
Soundtrack
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Sneak Peek at Barrel of Whiskey
About the Author
This is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations, and events within this book are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to business establishments, actual persons, or events is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Whistling Book Press
Denver, CO
Copyright © 2015 Whistling Books, LLC
All rights reserved.
Per the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form without written permission from the publisher. Please only purchase authorized editions.
Published by Whistling Book Press
Whistling Book Press
Denver, CO
Visit our web site at:
www.whistlingbooks.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Other works by SM Blooding
Dedication
Soundtrack
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
Sneak Peek at Barrel of Whiskey
About the Author
Other works by SM Blooding
Devices of War Trilogy
Fall of Sky City
Knight of Wands
Whispers of the Skyborne
Whiskey Witches (Paranormal Thriller)
Season 1 – Episodes 1-4
Blood Moon Magick
The Dream Killers (Fairytale Adventure)
Season 1
Episode 1: Graveyard of Dreams
Episode 2: Eyes of Stars
Episode 3: Captain Tightpants
Short stories in anthologies:
Twice Upon a Time – Nightmare of Wonderland
Of Mist and Magic – Rumple Stilt-Skin
Dreamland Stories (Fairytale Romance)
The Dustman (free on Smashwords)
To Shane:
You are my home.
Soundtrack (instrumental) for Blood Moon Magick
Album:
Artist:
Epic Action & Adventure Vol. 12
Epic Score
Camera flash.
Woman. Caucasian. Mid to late twenties. Lacerations to her face and arms.
Camera flash.
Evening gown. Missing left shoe.
Camera flash.
The brand of a small, four-tiered candelabra about the size of a quarter magickally seared into her bare shoulder.
Shit.
Detective Paige Whiskey rose from a crouch at the victim’s right shoulder and scanned the area, tugging at her jacket. Red and blue lights beat against the downtown concrete and glass buildings. People stood on the other side of the police tape along the street. They craned their necks, stood on tip toe, and stretched their arms out to get pictures around the brick building hiding the victim. They were eager to see the catastrophic entertainment despite the deepening chill of spring.
It had been two days since Louisiana. Two days since Paige had been kidnapped, tortured, and cast upon. Two days since her soul had been violated, allowing demons an easy path into her body. Since her ability to summon demons had ended. Since she’d bartered with the devil for Dexx’s life.
Before Louisiana, she would have come to this crime scene with her partner, investigated it, and tracked it to its non-magickal end.
Now, she had to search for the arcane. Well, she didn’t have to. There weren’t any laws stating it was her responsibility. There were no councils, nobody she had to answer to.
But she knew about it. Innocent people got in the way, sometimes in a bad way like this woman. She couldn’t just stand by and watch it happen.
Sometimes, she wished she wasn’t so damned moral.
She’d have to lie to Tony, her partner, like she had in Texas before her gift had been banished. Somehow, she’d have to fill out the reports so she didn’t sound like a raving nut job. Again.
If she lost her job here, she could say good-bye to her entire career. She wished this was some paranormal romance novel where the police force knew about magick and had protocols for it.
But this was real life. Real life regular people. Real life demons. Real life witches.
No sparkly vampires.
She shook out her shoulders, trying to relax.
The nearly full moon thrummed through her, making it more difficult to control her thoughts, her emotions, her power. In three days, the full moon would also be a super moon. Blessed Mother.
Her gift had been “turned off” against her will five years ago. She felt awakened.
It was more than just feeling the power of the moon as if she was an ocean tide. She’d rediscovered her connection to the All Mother.
For five years, the voice and guidance the All Mother had provided most of her life had been silenced. And now, She was back with a force of will that almost scared Paige. She hadn’t appreciated being banished.
Was that why the pull of the moon was strong? Before her gifts had be shut off, the moon had never tugged on her like this. Had her gifts grown? Was it the spell cast into her bones? Was the All Mother pissed?
Paige needed quiet her thoughts and focus.
She released a long, steadying breath.
The small, four-tiered candelabra almost looked like a tattoo except that the skin was puckered slightly around the edges. A demon brand.
But if this was a demon, she couldn’t hunt the thing, not with the spell Sven had cast into her bones. Any demon within fifty feet of her would be drawn to possess her.
That spell? It created a door to Hell through her soul. If a demon gained power of a living door to Hell, there would be no saving Earth.
Frell.
“Detective Whiskey,” one of the reporters called from the other side of the crime scene tape. “Would you like to make a statement?”
Reporter Danny Miller. She’d given him the inside scoop a time or two. He had a real eye for truth, and a true passion for getting it to the people. She respected the crap out of him for that. But she couldn’t let him in on the case. Not this one. Not tonight.
She waved him off.
He took a step back, his lips flat as he shoved his hands in his pockets.
Steve Barnsworth, the coroner, stepped out of his van. Good. She liked Barn. He didn’t work the magick side of things, but he was good peop
le. And he allowed her a few graces that he didn’t allow others when it came to the bodies. Not much, but enough.
What could she glean from what the killer had left behind?
No significant blood loss. No visible bruises. Just a lost shoe, lacerations to the victim’s face and arms, and a mark that had been branded onto her shoulder.
The air stank of rotten trash thanks to the dumpsters a few feet away. Even with that, she could still smell the distinct odor of rotting garlic and skunk spray.
Sulfur.
Demons had followed her to Denver. She was sure of it. Being the living door to Hell could inflict a world of horror to those around her. She couldn’t deal with the demons. She had no control over the door and it seemed to draw demons to her.
She had to get the police officers to back off. She had to make sure her partner didn’t get tangled up in this one. Hell, she had to make sure she didn’t either. How could she handle this?
She could call Balnore, her demon teacher, but she needed to prove to him that she could do this. Also, he was busy in Portland. She didn’t know all the details, but he’d been worried the last time she’d talked to him.
Dexx. Bonafide demon hunter. He might not have any magick abilities, no shortcuts like she did, but he had knowledge.
The only way to get him across this tape would be to change his name, though. Demon hunters broke laws.
No. She needed a real solution. This had to be by the book. Too many close calls recently.
Paige rubbed the back of her neck and searched with her inner eye, looking for a trail, something only she could trace. She wasn’t sure how her demon door would react to anything a demon might leave behind. She was hesitant to even look, but she needed to find some kind of clue.
Like a red, glowing handprint on the side of a dumpster?
She walked to the wall on the west side of the alley, placing her fingertips atop the handprint.
Energy sizzled through and around her, teasing at the ragged edges of the demon door inside her soul. Ah, fuck.
An image of the demon in its human host slammed in front of her mind’s eye.
Male. Ginger. Nice suit. Red tie. Oddly familiar.
She blinked, trying to look closer, dig deeper. She needed the demon’s name, needed to see its face.
She had to control the vision.
The woman struggled, clawing at the man, her lips moving as if begging him to stop. People walked past the alleyway as if they couldn’t see the murder in progress occurring in broad daylight.
Not what she needed. Fast forward.
The woman lay on the ground, her limbs askew. The demon brought her fingertips to his lips and released them.
A woman stopped her stroller at the mouth of the alley behind him and tucked the blankets around her baby, completely oblivious to the horror that had just transpired beside her.
The demon glanced down the alley, the gaze of his memory vision almost connecting with Paige’s. He pulled out what looked like a business card and slipped it under the victim’s right arm. His lips mouthed, “For you,” as though he knew she’d see it.
Shit. Fucking trippy. She’d used demon handprints to see what had happened before, back in Texas when she’d had full control of her abilities. But that? That had never happened before. Had the demon known Paige would show up? Had he known she’d use the handprint to watch him?
He must have.
Which meant it was probably Sven, the only demon who knew her that well.
Paige nearly dropped the connection to the memory but, through sheer force of will, maintained her hold. She needed information.
Rewind.
The woman struggled. Her nails grew longer, developing almost into claws. She brought her knee to connect with his groin.
The demon didn’t even flinch.
The woman’s eyes flashed a blazing blue.
A bicyclist raced by.
The demon’s lips moved.
Then, the woman stopped, her eyes normal, her nails shorter than before. Her eyes lost their blaze as she stared up at him, her body slack. She just stopped fighting. She stood there, staring up into the thing’s face as it grabbed her head and—
Paige broke contact and blinked several times to readjust her vision to her physical surroundings. She needed to get that business card the demon had left for her before Barn found it.
“Whiskey.”
Paige rubbed her eye with her knuckle. She turned back to the scene and the flashing lights. The buzz of magick still coursed through her.
Fingers gripped her shoulder. Low level electricity shot through her. “Paige, you all right?”
She shook off her partner’s grip. She needed to figure out how her magick worked now that it had been released from its cage. She couldn’t afford to overreact to stupid shit like her partner grabbing her shoulder. He wasn’t stupid.
Detective Tony Guerrerro, her partner for the past five years, almost looked like a hawk in this light. Angular chin and nose. Dark eyes focused intently on her despite the obvious distractions. Predatory. Definitely predatory. “Hey, Tony.”
He leaned down, a bland expression on his sharp face. “You all right?”
Paige straightened. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it.”
She flicked her eyebrows at him and walked back to the victim, intent on retrieving whatever note Sven had left for her. “Do we have identification?”
“Elizabeth Harwood,” he said. “Age thirty-two.” He shrugged, releasing a breath through his pursed lips. “Don’t have much more than that.”
“We know how she died,” Paige said, her tone grim as she knelt beside the victim’s right shoulder again. The demon mark annoyed her. Sven hadn’t left one before, so why would he start now? And why this one? Wouldn’t his be seven tails? “Broken neck.”
“Always happy to witness keen observation.” Barn didn’t look up from his examination of the victim’s nails. He wasn’t collecting anything. CSI would do that, but that didn’t stop him from looking. “Good to see you back, Whiskey.”
“Good to see you, too.” Paige studied the victim’s nails without touching. Had she really seen what she thought she did? Her nails had turned into claws. Was she a demon as well? What demon did she know of that grew claws? None.
So, paranormal creature? Werewolf, maybe?
That couldn’t be, though. They were a myth. This wasn’t some book. Witches, demons, and angels were real. The rest?
Tony knelt beside Barn. “Broken neck? How do you come up with this crap, Whiskey? Visions?”
She ignored him and leaned down as if examining the victim’s arm.
“Without your hands,” Barn reminded.
When she’d first come to Denver, Barn wouldn’t let her anywhere near the body until he was done. Procedure. That’s how things were supposed to be. However, she’d befriended him somewhat. She knew his favorite sandwich, his favorite soccer team, and his favorite ice cream. She also followed protocol on everything else, so he trusted her.
Which was good. There were times when she needed that. Like now. She needed to know what the demon had left for her.
With Tony and Barn concentrating elsewhere, she slipped her fingertips under the victim’s bare arm and discretely pulled out the card, flipping it into her palm. “Hey, Barn. What do you make of this mark?”
He shrugged. “I’ll have to get her to my lab. Run some tests. Fake tattoo, maybe?”
She bit her lip, anxious to read the note, and sat on her heels.
Tony narrowed his eyes at her, glancing significantly down at her hand.
Shit. Tony had always been a good detective, but never this observant. Or was it simply that she had something to hide? The real world, where she worked, didn’t believe in the supernatural. A whiff of magick, of “precognition,” of visions, or anything like that, and she’d be shipped out of the unit on a mental health release.
Or worse.
She needed to be super
careful with him.
“We might have the killer’s DNA.” Barn held up the victim’s hand. “Scrapings under the finger nails.”
“That’s good,” Tony said, his voice tight, his lips pulled down, his brow furrowed.
Why were Tony’s non-verbals mimicking what Paige was thinking?
Having the killer’s DNA did them no good. The person who owned the DNA under those nails was not the thing that killed the woman.
Tony couldn’t know the last bit. She’d know if he knew about demons. Wouldn’t she?
He raised an eyebrow at her. “It’d be great if he had a prior. I like it when they’re in the system.” His tone wasn’t nearly as stone cold serious as his face.
“That’s because you like ‘em easy,” she bantered back, her tone light as she kept her expression a mask. She rose to her feet, watching her partner for any other clues as to why he was acting so strangely.
He mirrored her movements, including her expression.
Shit. She walked toward the crime scene tape. Deal with Tony now? Wait?
It had only been two days. She needed more time to process.
She stashed the card in her pocket and removed her latex gloves. Finding the trash bag, she tossed them in, then ducked under the crime scene tape. Dodging the reporters, she headed toward the single open space she could find.
Tony followed her. “Whiskey.”
“Hey, Keiff,” Paige called to one of the uniformed officers keeping the bystanders away from the scene. “Got a cigarette?”
Keiff turned, his white teeth bright against his darker skin in a welcome smile. “I thought you quit.”
Her nerves were ragged. “Just need one. Spot me?”
He dug into his chest pocket for his pack. Giving her a rueful look, he handed her one.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah, well, just don’t start again.”
Tony stepped in front of her. “What the hell’s up with you?”
Officer Keiff rounded his lips and backed away, his hands raised. “Stayin’ out of this one. See ya round, Whiskey.”
Paige released a long breath. Not what she needed. Under the radar. That’s what she needed. “What do you mean?”
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