Deadly Storm (The Storm Chronicles Book 10)

by Skye Knizley

  But it was real. She’d had the dream often enough to know she’d been awake, frozen in time for almost seventy years. Not awake in the normal sense, but not vampiric torpor either. This had been something in between, broken only by Aspen’s love, a healing trance during which she was still aware of the passage of time and the eternal cold in which she slept. It was like she’d spent seventy years half asleep, unable to do anything but dream.

  Raven sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. She knew where she was, now. It was the apartment she shared with her fiancée Aspen. There was the familiar old-fashioned dresser pushed up against the far wall, in the corner was the television stand, High-def television and collection of classic movies, and the wide windows covered with heavy drapes to keep out light and prying eyes. The walls were decorated with a mix of framed photographs and movie posters and her pistol sat holstered atop the night table beside the bed. Everything was as it should be, so why did she feel so anxious?

  She slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Aspen dozing beneath her curtain of violet hair, and padded into the bathroom. She closed the door before flicking on the light and pulling her long red hair out of her face. She looked pale, more so than usual, and her green eyes were rimmed with red. She didn’t look tired, she looked exhausted. If the nightmares didn’t stop, she was going to collapse, go crazy, or both.

  She turned the tap and let the sink fill with cold water before splashing her face. The water chased away the last of the nightmare and she breathed a sigh of relief. She dried with a fluffy towel Aspen had stolen from one of Seattle’s nicer hotels and turned the light off before exiting the room. Aspen sat cross-legged on the bed, her blue eyes glowing with magik.

  “Nightmares again, love?” she asked.

  Raven sat beside her. “Yeah, worse than when I shot Dad. The sleeping pills the doc gave me aren’t cutting it and I can’t seem to get warm.”

  Aspen snuggled into her shoulder. “I could do a little magik, make you a sleeping draught or something.”

  Raven kissed her forehead. “No thank you, honey, Fae magik gives me a headache. I’m going to get some coffee and catch up on some of that paperwork King keeps nagging me about.”

  Aspen met her eyes. “Want me to get up with you?”

  “No, you get some rest.” Raven kissed her again and stood. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  The living room was quiet, lit by the large Christmas tree set in the center between the window and the sofa. She and Aspen had decorated it over the last month until it was laden with ornaments that were personal to them and represented their relationship. They’d scoured the city to find the lights and decorations, and it was time well spent. For Raven, it was one of the happiest times of her life. Mother had always insisted on a Victorian tree covered in meaningless, perfect ornaments applied by familiars and fledglings. It wasn’t a celebration, it was art and it had ruined most Yule holidays since she was fifteen.

  She paused to inhale the heady scent of the live evergreen then turned to the kitchen. It still didn’t see much use, though she’d promised Aspen they would spend more meals together. They made a point of being home and sharing a real meal at least one night a week. Last night she’d made steak medallions with vegetables and potatoes. Most of the undercooked steak still sat on the counter and she popped a piece in her mouth before turning her attention to the coffee maker. She plopped a coffee pod into the machine, added her favorite mug and pressed the button for the largest cup of coffee the machine would produce.

  When the coffee was done, she sat at the counter and opened her laptop. She had a stack of paperwork, including an unfinished report about Morgana and Black Eon, a report she’d been avoiding. Morgana was dead and Black Eon was nothing but scrap. A report seventy years after the fact seemed a waste of time. She’d said as much to King, who had replied with the look he normally reserved for nosy congressmen, and told her to get it done. She stared at the first line of the report and sipped her coffee. Maybe she should just write ‘Morgana died, the end’ and send it in. No, that would result in King being sarcastic. His sarcasm made her teeth itch.

  She was snapped off her train of thought by the chirp of her phone. She checked the number, not surprised to see it was Silver Van Helsing, King’s niece. She slid her thumb across the phone’s surface and held it to her ear.

  “It’s the middle of the night, Sil,” Raven said.

  “And you answered on the first ring,” Silver replied. Her Irish accent made the sentence sound like poetry.

  “I’m not sleeping, what’s your excuse?”

  “A case, you and Rupert are up, got a weird one that’s got your name written all over it,” Silver said.

  Raven frowned. “I thought Sable and McShea were on deck. Rupe and I have the holiday off.”

  “Sorry, Ray, not anymore. I just sent Sable and Ricky out to New York on the redeye. Your dad and Quatermain are in Seattle, Jynx and Piper are running a contract in West Texas, which leaves you and Rupe,” Silver said.

  “Damn. Okay, text me the details and wake up Rupert,” Raven said.

  She could hear Silver’s smile in the reply. “I already called Rupert, he’ll meet you at scene.”

  “Where am I going?” Raven asked.

  “Guess,” Silver said.

  Raven rubbed her eyes and turned to see Aspen standing in the doorway. “I’m not going to guess, Sil. Just give me the damn address.”

  “Where’s your holiday cheer?” Silver asked.

  “It left when you gave us a case two days before Christmas,” Raven growled.

  “Fair enough. The Waldorf, suite 6002. Bring Aspen, she’s got forensics.”

  Raven hung up set her phone on the counter.

  “A case?” Aspen asked.

  “A weird one at the Waldorf,” Raven said.

  “Why us? What about−”

  Raven cut her off. “All on assignment. Get a shower and grab your gear.”

  “Dammit Ray, this is supposed to be our holiday,” Aspen snapped.

  “It still will be, Asp. The case is here, we’re here and I’m sure it’s nothing. We’ll bang this out or hand it to Chicago PD and be done in time for Yule turkey,” Raven said.

  She brushed past and started sorting through the closet. Leather pants with zippers at the calves, a bright blue sweater that made her hair stand out and a pair of soft, comfortable boots went into a pile. She was sorting lingerie when she felt Aspen come up behind her.

  “It never works that way, Ray,” she said.

  “I know.”

  Aspen started sorting her own clothes and gear. “I’m not going to bitch about duty, honey. But you can say no. We both can.”

  Raven didn’t answer. There was nothing to say, Aspen was right.

  11 East Walton Street, 2:00 a.m.

  The Waldorf Hotel sat on the corner of East Walton and North Rush in the area of Chicago known as the Gold Coast. The hotel was massive, sixty stories of luxury rooms and suites generally reserved for only the ultra-rich. The circular driveway was full of Rolls Royce and Bentley limousines attended to by young valets working desperately to keep the cars clear of falling snow. Even at this hour the hotel was busy, especially this close to the holidays.

  Raven parked her Jaguar next to a police cruiser and climbed out with Aspen close behind.

  “I stayed here once,” Aspen said.

  “When was that?” Raven asked as the bellman held the door for them.

  “Right after I graduated. I blew my celebration cash on a long weekend of luxury,” Aspen said.

  “I’m surprised they didn’t card you every time you ordered booze,” Raven said.

  Aspen made a face. “They did.”

  The Waldorf lobby was the second ugliest Raven had ever seen, with white marble tile that looked like children had been allowed to scribble on it with mar
kers, ostentatious crystal curtains that allowed passage to the adjoining lounge and bar, and sculptures that looked as if the artist had suffered tragic seizures while working with the delicate clay.

  “People pay to stay here?” Raven asked.

  Aspen smiled. “It isn’t that bad, babes.”

  “Their decorator should be arrested for crimes against humanity,” Raven said.

  She rang for the elevator and stared at the numbers above the mirrored doors. As they waited, she realized she could feel eyes on her. She turned her head and spotted a middle-aged man in the lounge just beyond the curtain. He went back to his newspaper when he saw he’d been caught and Raven let it go. She and Aspen caused comment everywhere they went, it was nothing new.

  The elevator arrived and Raven followed Aspen inside. She pressed the 60th floor and leaned against the railing, wishing elevators hadn’t been playing holiday music since All Hallows.

  The doors opened with a faint hiss onto the 60th floor. She waved her badge at the officer outside the doors and made her way down the corridor to the room with all the police standing around outside drinking coffee and talking in hushed voices.

  The corridor was as bad as the lobby, with pink-beige carpet, white walls that continued the scribble effect and art of questionable talent. How could anyone tell if someone had been killed here? The blood would mesh with the rest of the décor.

  She arched an eyebrow at the uniform who tried to stop her and directed his attention to the badge hanging around her neck. He moved out of the way and Raven stepped into the room.

  The suite was large, with an entry foyer that opened into a wide sitting room complete with electric fireplace, black leather sofa, glass tables and a side chair that looked about as comfortable as the average waiting room’s. Detective Clive Drake sat in the matching chair with a file folder open in front of him.

  Drake was a tall, thin man with sandy blond hair and blue eyes that reminded Raven of Francois Du Guerre. But that wasn’t the only reason Raven disliked him. He was a thug with no business carrying a badge.

  Drake stood and smirked at Raven. “Still dressing like a Goth princess and playing Fed, I see.”

  “Still wishing you had a brain, I see,” Raven replied. “What are you doing at my crime scene?”

  “It was mine, until the Feds decided it was their jurisdiction,” Drake said.

  “Mauser isn’t stupid enough to assign you a homicide,” Aspen said.

  Detective Lee Murtaugh entered from the side bedroom with Levac trailing behind. Murtaugh, tall, broad shouldered and dark-skinned, had been Raven’s first choice for partner before being assigned to Levac. She was eternally grateful for Levac, but Murtaugh was a solid detective and a decent human being.

  “Murt, you’re not−”

  Murtaugh nodded. “I’m showing Drake the ropes. This was his first high profile murder, Mauser gave it to him at the District holiday party.”

  “My condolences,” Aspen said, on her way to the bedroom. “What did you guys touch?”

  “Nothing,” Levac said. Raven was surprised to see he wasn’t wearing his usual trench coat over a rumpled suit. He was garbed in a black Star Trek tee shirt, jeans and converse sneakers beneath a Navy pea coat that had probably been his father’s. It had the style of WWII sailors about it, as well as a slight hint of age.

  “Ming is on his way with Harvey and Agnes, so it’s hurry up and wait,” Levac said.

  “What’s so special about this case, why did the Feds take it?” Drake asked.

  His aftershave was so potent Raven thought he nose was going to fall off her face. She waved him away and shook her head.

  “It falls into whatever jurisdiction I say it does. Get the hell out of my crime scene, you’re stinking up the place. Drakkar is cologne, not bathwater,” Raven said.

  Drake bristled and stepped closer, trying to use his height to intimidate.

  “What’s your problem, Storm?”

  Raven glared back. “You. You beat confessions out of perps, you take bribes, bully street kids and you stink. Get out of my face, Drake.”

  “Prove it!”

  “Alright, Clive, that’s enough,” Murtaugh said, stepping between them, “It’s her jurisdiction, let’s get a drink and some z’s.”

  Drake glared at Raven and started for the door. “Fucking bulldyke is stealing our case, Lee. This was a big one, I can feel it.”

  Murtaugh pushed him out the door. “Shut up, Clive. Storm can kick your ass seven ways to Sunday, and if you keep talking I’m going to sit down and watch.”

  Levac pulled his notebook out of the pocket of his jeans. “That’s my partner, making friends and influencing people.”

  Raven looked at him. “Drake doesn’t belong on the force, we both know it.”

  “But he is, poking him with a stick every time you see him doesn’t help,” Levac said. “We need to work on your people skills, boss.”

  “What’s the case?” Raven asked, changing the subject.

  “Dead guy in the next room,” Levac said. “Someone took their time killing him, it’s like a slaughterhouse in there.”

  The bedroom was a scene out of a John Carpenter nightmare. A king bed with black and white comforter was stained crimson with blood, and the black nightstands to either side, once polished black lacquer, were coated in blood and strips of what Raven first thought were bacon, before she realized they were skin, meat and fat cut from the victim.

  The victim had been male, judging by general size and shape, but he’d been tortured and cut so badly it was almost impossible to tell anything else. He was tied to a chair, with the bare, skinless flesh of his chest and thighs glistening in the overhead lights.

  “Damn…where’s his…his…”

  “Sausage?” Levac suggested. “I don’t know.”

  Aspen, her face pale, knelt beside the victim with her AFIS digital reader in hand. “His name was Jensen Murphy, 35, Chicago native with a revoked concealed carry permit and two priors for breaking and entering. Career cat-burglar, according to AFIS.”

  “Looks like he might have burgled the wrong house,” Levac said.

  Raven stepped into the room and pulled a pair of purple Nitrile gloves from her jacket. “Somebody didn’t like him much, that’s for sure.”

  “You think this was retribution for burglary?” Aspen asked.

  “It would match the viciousness of the kill,” Levac said. “This was a hate kill, no doubt.”

  He flipped pages in his notebook. “Murt did the preliminaries, this is the victim’s room, he checked in two nights ago with a woman. No identification on his guest, Murt requested the security vids.”

  Raven pulled open the nightstand drawer and checked beneath the Bible, but found nothing. “Why would someone who lives here get a thousand dollar a day suite?”

  “Sex,” Aspen said.

  Raven glanced at her. “That was quick.”

  “Makes sense though, doesn’t it?” Aspen asked.

  “Maybe. Gives us another motive, too,” Levac said.

  Raven picked her way to the other side of the room. “If Murphy was bumping uglies with someone’s wife, it would explain the mutilation.”

  She bent beside the other nightstand and photographed the flesh and blood hanging from the lampshade before brushing it aside with her pen to see what was beneath. Murphy’d had good taste. The vintage gold Rolex on the nightstand was ten grand, easy, and the rings looked genuine. She poked through them and spotted one that didn’t belong, a ladies’ engagement ring with a platinum setting and a diamond big enough for Shaq. She held it up to the light to see the inscription, which read “For Sable, With Eternal Love.”

  “Shit,” Raven said.

  Levac straightened from where he’d been taking photos. “What, this gets worse?”

  “How can it get any w
orse?” Aspen asked. She’d begun processing everything Levac had photographed, and she was looking greener than usual.

  “This ring was meant for someone named Sable,” Raven said.

  “Your sister?” Levac asked.

  Raven shrugged. “It’s a rare name, not many people name their kids after shades of black.”

  “Someone spent enough time with Sable to fall in love?” Aspen said.

  Levac glared at her. “She’s really not that bad, when you get to know her.”

  “Not what I meant, Rupe. Sable pushes people away, much like a dhampyr we both know and love. Keeping someone close means they were extremely important to her,” Aspen said.

  Raven bagged the ring and added it to Aspen’s already started evidence box. “Keep processing until Ming gets here, I’m going to the lobby.”

  “Why?” Levac asked.

  “To ask the clerk if he’s seen me before,” Raven replied.

  The elevator ride to the lobby was one of the longest Raven had ever experienced, between an elevator Muzak version of the Turkey Song and the worry growing in her gut. Her instincts told her that the victim was Sable’s beau. If it was, the case had just gotten even messier. Worse, who was going to tell Sable her partner was dead? That wasn’t likely to go well and she just might kill the messenger.

  Raven stepped out in the lobby and made her way through the empty room to the desk, where a dapper young clerk with slicked black hair and pressed suit was waiting.

  “Yes ma’am, how can I help you?”

  “Have you ever seen me before?” she asked.

  The clerk blinked in surprise. “Beg pardon, ma’am?”

  Raven pointed at her face. “Me, have you ever seen me? I have an identical twin who might have been here last night.”

  “No ma’am, I haven’t,” the clerk replied. “I am just filling in, I usually work the day shift but Franklin is on vacation for the holiday.”