by A. L. Tyler
I picked up the key to the cuffs. When I took them off, the renewed sound of destruction made me duck again. Nothing around me was breaking.
It was already broken.
Even through the chaos of the spell—the sound, which mimicked shattering glass so perfectly—I could hear the pattern. Low and rumbling, and at times drawn and stinging.
Nick was angry about this. And not just angry. This ran deep. There was rage and sorrow in that spell, and I wondered what he had been through with Joe that he could feel so deeply about the loss of this person. At the same time, the spell brought back memories in me that I had pushed to the back of my mental shelves long ago. Memories of me and my father.
Three victims in less than a week. When the Bleak found out, this place would be crawling.
Run, the voice inside my head said. I closed my eyes, trying to think objectively. Somewhere there was a lost child, and she was messing with my head.
Three men were already dead.
My father was still in prison.
Focus on the plan. I always heard those words in my father’s voice. Focus on the plan.
Steal the magic.
Lay low.
Free your father.
Make it right.
No one was supposed to die.
Appointing myself the lead investigator of some screwed up murder mystery, or even just assisting in one, was most definitely not laying low. Nick was not a guy I wanted to deal with on a long-term basis... or even a short-term basis. He was too unstable.
Unpredictable. Plans didn’t like the unpredictable.
I needed another year, at least, to gain any rudimentary mastery over the power I had stolen.
I might not have a year.
Focus on the plan.
I swallowed, opening my eyes and sighing deeply. Deviating from the plan almost certainly meant failure. Failure meant death, as much as waiting a year might kill me.
The girl in the polka dot dress was smiling at me again.
The plan is already blown. I would never live up to the agent my father once was. Forget the plan.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and called a taxi.
Chapter 25
I THOUGHT ABOUT JOE and Farrow the entire cab ride. Nick had been doing Joe a favor. I thought I was doing the right thing, helping a handler take in a suspect.
We had delivered two unsuspecting men into the hands of death. I was haunted by the memory of Farrow jimmying open his window on the night we came to question him.
What if I had let him go? Would they both still be alive now? Nothing would rid me of the image of Farrow jumping in the air as the tree split next to him.
He was dead. Gone. I could never undo it.
And whoever this psycho is, he has a child...
I tried to turn my thoughts to the killer instead, focusing on what I knew, but I didn’t know anything anymore. The ability to kill like that, with no fight at all, seemed more like a textbook curse than anything else.
But curses were loud. I would have heard it. No one had cursed that house.
And the more I chased the ideas around and around my head, the more I realized that the only thing I knew about this case was what Nick had pointed out: I was the only connection.
Was the killer stalking me?
I paid my taxi and banged loud on Nick’s door. When Kane timidly opened it, I pushed past him.
“I need to get some stuff,” I mumbled.
“Nick told me that Joe is dead.”
I stopped in the middle of the hallway and turned to face him, but I had trouble looking him in the eye right then. He was lounging in sweats and there was an open box of takeout on the counter. The smell of warm noodles and soy sauce filled the space.
“Yeah. He’s dead.”
Kane twitched. “How?”
The pain and guilt twisted in my chest. “I don’t know.”
And I really wished people would stop asking.
“Nick was just in and out of here,” Kane said, jabbing a thumb back at the door. “He took all the evidence photos. Said he was going drinking. And not the way vampires usually do—he’s actually going to get drunk. The only other times I’ve ever seen him drunk are on the anniversary.”
“Anniversary?” I really wasn’t in the mood to chat. People were dying all around me, and through Murphy’s Law, it only seemed to be happening to the least annoying people.
“Of his family’s death.” Kane stared at me without blinking. “That anniversary was last month. Right before he picked up your case. He’s not fun when he’s drunk, but I can’t say I blame him. The night you wake up and find your wife and kids ripped to pieces around you, you never want to be sober again. And I have to listen to that story every gods damn year, Sparky. How he woke up, and the bed was wet, and he thought the roof had sprung a leak. His wife was cold next to him. The house was too quiet. No one answered when he called their names. The baby was missing from their bed, and he couldn’t find a light, and he had to dig for a candle.”
I shook my head. “Why are you telling me this?”
“And when he finally got the damn thing lit, he found what was left of his kids—”
“Stop.” This was the last thing I wanted to hear. “Why? Why are you telling me?”
Kane’s frown lines deepened. “Because you look at him and you see some asshole handler. And that’s not who he is. Joe was living on the streets, using cheap tricks to steal from the ants before Nick took him in. Joe used to sleep in the room you’re in now. He slept in that bed.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. For your loss. And Nick’s loss. I’m sorry.”
Kane cocked his head to the side. He was either a hell of a con man, or there was real sadness in his eyes. “Nick lived with the guilt of his family’s death for a long time. He didn’t understand what had happened. He didn’t know how he could have just lain there while they were being murdered and probably screaming his name for help. He was just a guy—an ant—out there in the wilderness. He didn’t understand the darkness that overtook him afterward. And even after he did understand, and the Bleak asked him into the fold, he found out that no one had ever caught the blood sucker that did it. As far as anyone knows, that bastard is still at large. That’s why he drinks. And now he’s drinking again, and let me tell you, he doesn’t need another excuse to drink. So, if you know something that will help catch this killer—”
I swallowed and shook my head. My own tears were barely contained. “I don’t.”
Kane narrowed his eyes, taking a step toward me. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not!” I almost slapped him. Did he think I was so cruel that I didn’t care about these deaths?
“You can’t leave him like this. He’s not going to get anywhere on this while he’s staring at the bottom of a bottle. You can’t leave when you’re the only other person who knows. You have to call in help, if that’s what you need.”
My breath caught in my throat. “They are already coming, Kane. And if I’m here, and Nick hasn’t caught the real killer when they arrive—”
“No,” he said shortly. “You can’t leave. Not now.”
“If I knew anything—”
“You don’t know.” He studied my face. “You suspect. What aren’t you saying?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
“Sparky!”
“It’s nothing!” I insisted. “It’s just a feeling! It’s like...” I started to gesture around me, but I realized he wouldn’t get it. No one ever understood the world as I heard it. “It’s like, the sounds get louder, and more annoying, and I know I’ve missed something. Like when you leave the house without something important and it bothers you all day until you remember what it was. I missed something, and I’m sure of it. I need to go to the crime scene. I need to be there. Something about all of this is wrong, and I know the answers are there.”
He nodded impatiently. “Then I suggest you get your shit and go.”<
br />
I went to my room and collected my bags. Kane hardly blinked when he saw me standing by the door with my stuff hung over my shoulder. We both knew that Nick wouldn’t want me around anymore. I was back to sleeping on a pile of dirty clothes in my hell hole of an apartment.
That was fine. There was no one else to hurt there.
“You aren’t going to follow me?” I asked. I hardly cared about the answer. I had work to do, and Kane or no, he wasn’t going to slow me down.
“Second drunk day in less than a month,” Kane said. He slipped on his coat. “He’s going to need someone.”
I nodded grimly. I let myself out.
I DROVE PAST THE CRIME scene again, but the crew was still cleaning up. I sat in my car seething and frustrated and watched them. There was something wrong with all of this. Something that was bothering me in the back of my mind, and though I didn't know why—because I had already stared at them for hours on end—I had a strong desire to look at the evidence photos again. I had missed something. Something obvious, that was just beyond my mental reach. My shift at work was done, and I was going to look sketchy as hell going in after hours, but I needed to see those photos.
I went back to the station. All I needed to do was fake that I had left something to get in and get out quickly. If Marge was busy she wouldn't make a big deal out of it. Maybe while I was in there I would pretend that I had forgotten to do something or check something in one of the case files.
No—that sounded too irresponsible.
My email. Yes, maybe I had forgotten to check or respond to an e-mail. That sounded good. I badged in through the back, hoping not to run into anyone so that I could be in and out as fast as possible. My time was extremely limited now.
“Oh, Janet! You’re back!”
I exhaled low and deep in frustration. Charlene.
I kept walking, pretending I didn't hear her.
Charlene's footsteps sped up until she was next to me.
“How was your appointment?” she asked. She winked. “Any luck?”
I closed my eyes and shook my head a little. How was I going to handle this?
Was there an appropriate way to handle an annoying secretary who was asking how lucky I’d gotten in reference to a visit to a fertility specialist? Part of me wanted to just say “HR” before walking off.
“Charlene.” I turned to face her squarely. The truth? Tell her to mind her own business? I pursed my lips. “I didn't go to the appointment. We had a fight on the way. Please, just forget you ever heard anything about it. I'm pretty sure those plans are off.”
“Oh,” Charlene was appropriately shocked and dismayed, but I could still see the gossip vultures circling just beneath the surface of her calm. This was juicy stuff. “Oh, Janet...”
I could already see it in her eyes. “You didn't tell anyone already, did you?”
Charlene bit her lip. “Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. I did. Just Marge. A few other people might have overheard. Janet, I'm so sorry...”
I nodded. at least she hadn't sent out a department memo. I could bluff Marge. “It's fine. I don't really want to talk about it.”
“And with all that trouble with your aunt...” Charlene's eyes grew wide with concern. “Do you have someone you can talk to? Do you have friends and family? You can always talk to me if you need someone.”
Oh, hell no. I took a short breath in and tried to act natural.
“I'll be fine,” I insisted.
I started to walk away. Charlene reached out to touch my arm and I froze in place again. Now she was starting to irritate me.
“What about your parents, honey?” she asked. “Do you talk to your parents much these days?”
Always with the personal questions. This weird prying ended now. I was sick of trying to keep up with my own fictional back story.
I looked her in the eye as my hand drifted to her arm to inflict the new touch spell. “My mom died shortly after I graduated. My dad is in prison for the rest of his life. All of that stuff about them moving away somewhere was a lie because I don't like to talk about it. And I mean it, I don't want to talk about it. But thanks, Charlene, I appreciate your concern. Don't bring it up again.”
I left her standing there, speechless, and hurried on my way down to the evidence room.
My stomach turned uncomfortably. My fake story was now a little too close to my real story, and I didn’t know why that made me want to throw up, but there was no time right now.
Hissing under my breath, I turned and went back, putting a hand on Charlene’s shoulder. She stared at me, confused, as I looked her directly in the eye.
“Forget I said all of that.” I focused on the spell, and the music, and fought hard to keep it from overwhelming me. I needed this spell to stick. “You never even saw me tonight.”
Then I shoved the whole incident to the back of my mind and focused on the way the fluorescent lights cast my shadow on the low-grade office carpet as I walked.
I was in luck. The evidence room was already closed for the evening. I pulled out my phone and checked, and sure enough, Marge’s shift had ended ten minutes ago. I badged in.
I considered keeping the lights off to avoid any attention, but then I realized that that would only make me seem more suspicious. No one was supposed to be in the evidence room now. Even though the security guys knew me, I didn’t need them seeing that I had badged in and cut the lights.
Nothing screamed “criminal activity” louder than sneaking around in the dark.
I turned on the lights as though I were preparing to work normally. Then I went straight to the computer in back room instead of sitting in the main office.
The three minutes it took to boot up were the longest of my life. Flicking through the photos again, my heart gave of pang of triumph and despair.
Because there, behind the bloodied corpse, barely visible because it wasn't in focus so far back in this picture, was some child's artwork stuck to the fridge.
A family with a mom, a dad, cat, and right there in the corner: a blue sun.
A blue sun. The same one that I had seen on the artwork at Farrow’s place.
Farrow had known these humans. The Gregorys must have had some connection to the magical community. That information would have been a valuable lead on the killer, because it might have hinted at how a nice, normal family like this had become entangled with a murderous warlock.
Now Farrow was dead. I had no way of asking him. That lead was gone, and all thanks to a couple of thick-skulled grunt workers who had decided to use an ax instead of a scalpel even after I told them Farrow wasn’t the right guy.
I closed my eyes. They paid too much for that mistake. Don’t blame them. No one could have predicted this.
I went back to the evidence pictures, staring at Travis Gregory’s body. Two murder scenes, now. Find the pattern, Driftwood. Killers have habits just like everyone else.
The murders had all happened at night. Before bed. By the way that Gregory’s shoes were set by the door, he had already settled down for the night. At night, but before bed.
My eyes slid to the plates in the sink, still unwashed, and then to the dinner that was still on the table.
The stacks and stacks of pizza boxes at Joe’s, because he didn’t like to leave his house. Magic users were very concerned with poisons, but in the magic world, the most common protections only concerned themselves with poisons that killed.
Anything else, well...
Shit. That’s brilliant.
My mind raced. I whipped out my cell phone and dialed Nick.
Chapter 26
HE DIDN’T PICK UP UNTIL the fourth ring.
“Yeah?”
“Nick, listen—”
“Who is this? The caller ID only says ‘Worthless Deskrider’.”
I sighed. It was Kane. “Give the phone to Nick. It’s important.”
“Nick’s inebriated at the moment. Would you like to leave a message?”
I switched the phon
e to my other ear, licking my lips. Figures. The moment I find something useful.
“No, I would like for you to—”
“You don’t want to talk to him right now, Sparky.”
“Give Nick the damn phone!” My fingers sparked like firecrackers and I closed a fist, breathing deeply as I tried to reel it back in. The smell of the Fourth of July lingered in my nostrils and I silently prayed that the sensitive smoke detectors in the evidence room wouldn’t notice. “Kane, so help me—”
“Hello?” His voice was low and defeated. “Is this Worthless Deskrider?”
Thank the gods. I swallowed my apprehension. “They were poisoned. All of them. Travis Gregory didn’t even finish his dinner, and maybe the killer intercepted Joe’s pizza delivery. It explains everything. There were no defensive wounds—”
“Labs?” Even drunk, Nick was on the ball.
I clicked through the case file. Labs weren’t back yet, but I knew they would be coming soon.
Not soon enough.
“Rohypnol.”
Nick scoffed and sighed. “Liar. Liar with a crackpot theory—”
“It’s the only way it could have happened! Think about it. And there’s more. Farrow had a kids’ drawing on his fridge, remember? With a blue sun? And if you look at the evidence pictures of Travis Gregory—”
“Stop. Talking.”
The sheer cold in his voice silenced me. When Nick spoke again, his tone didn’t engender any hope that he was feeling my urgency on this case.
“You saw a kid’s drawing in the pictures. You saw another at Farrow’s. It doesn’t mean a damn thing.”
I shook my head. He wasn’t listening. “But with a blue sun, both of them. That can’t be a coincidence!”
I could practically hear his sneer. “And you’re just now saying this. Now.”
“I didn’t know—”
“It was in the fucking crime scene photos the whole time, and it just slipped right past you.”
It slipped past you, too, moron. Now wasn’t the time. “Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”
