Bad Witch: A Snarky Paranormal Detective Story (A Cat McKenzie Novel Book 2)

by Lauren Dawes

  “I’ve emailed them to you,” he murmured.

  Once the ME arrived, we wouldn’t have been able to get close to the body and those symbols again until after the autopsy was done, and something told me we didn’t have that kind of time.

  Soon enough, the apartment was full of Buxton CSI, each person doing their thing while more officers stood just outside the door chatting to the emergency service workers who were checking all the apartments for any stragglers.

  The building was empty now, the lack of structural integrity ensuring its residents wouldn’t be returning.

  “Let’s head up to your apartment,” Sawyer suggested, leading the way up the broken and cracked concrete stairs and onto the floor above. A firefighter still lingering on my floor let Sawyer help me to my apartment, so I could collect some things before I was officially made homeless too.

  I sucked in a breath when I saw my place. It was a mess. Everything that had been on the walls was no longer there. Dust, Sheetrock, broken dishes and glass littered the floor. I picked up one half of my rainbow farting unicorn statue that hadn’t been smashed into a thousand pieces and looked at it.

  “Go and pack a bag, pussy cat,” Sawyer said.

  I turned to him, tears sitting unshed in my eyes. “Where am I supposed to go? I can’t afford to stay at a hotel until this place is repaired.”

  “My place,” he replied firmly. He looked around at the damage. “And I doubt this apartment block will be rebuilt. There’s been too much structural damage done.”

  I wasn’t sure why, but that declaration made me sad. This was my place, the only place I’d ever had. I loved everything about it. Still, I nodded and hobbled into the bedroom. Pulling a bag from the closet, I filled it with clothes, then took down another to salvage some of my unicorn collection that hadn’t been decimated in the destruction.

  As soon as I stepped out of my room, Sawyer was there, taking the bag from my hand.

  “Only one bag?”

  I sniffled. “There’s another one on my bed.”

  Handing me my phone, which had somehow not been destroyed in the process of being left in my apartment, he ducked back into my bedroom.

  “How’s the knee? I noticed you were limping before,” he said when he came back out.

  Grunting, I replied, “I hope I haven’t done any more damage to it by playing superhero.”

  He shuffled the bags to just one of his hands, so he could slide his free arm around my waist. I leaned against him as he led me from the apartment.

  After picking our way through the debris, we finally made it outside, walking past everyone who had gotten out, a crowd of gawking people and emergency service workers. If it were under any other circumstances, I would’ve been ogling the shit out of them all because firemen are yummy.

  “Are you thinking about the nice policeman in uniform, pussy cat?” Sawyer asked into my ear, a teasing growl in his voice.

  I gave him the stink eye. Having an incubus for a partner sucked sometimes. “It was the fireman, if you must know.”

  “I don’t think you’re in any state to try and seduce someone.”

  “I don’t want seduction, Sawyer. I’d just imitate a starfish and let them have at it.”

  A wave of lust shot through me as my words affected my partner. Being an incubus, he fed off sexual energy and was able to manipulate sexual feelings—sexual feelings I had for him in spades. I’d had a taste of Sawyer, and even though I shouldn’t want more, I did.

  I moaned, “Can you please stop?”

  “Stop what?”

  “You’re doing that thing again.” I waved my hand in the general direction of his crotch. “The thing we don’t talk about anymore.”

  “The thing you don’t want to talk about, you mean.” At my eye roll, he added, “We’ll have to talk about what happened at Slayke sooner or later.”

  What happened at Slayke was something I’d thought about nonstop in private. We’d been bespelled. Sawyer had given me three orgasms on the dancefloor before the haze of lust had lifted for me. Sawyer, being the incubus he was, hadn’t gotten off so lightly—no pun intended. He’d been dragged into a sexual frenzy where he screwed multiple women against the walls for hours, and only stopped when the owners of the club had knocked him out cold.

  I knew he still felt guilty for what had happened.

  “No, I don’t.”

  He cursed under his breath, and like a switch had been flipped, the sensation of wanting to dry hump his leg suddenly went away. Blowing the hair from my face, I glared at him. “Dick.”

  “You were the one who mentioned it first.”

  Oh, yeah, I totally was.

  “Cat, do you think we’ll ever talk about—”

  “No, thank you,” I replied quickly, cutting him off. No, I didn’t want to rehash what happened at Slayke. I wanted to put that little incident far back into my mind and only bring it out in private moments.

  He muttered something about being stubborn but didn’t push the issue. When we arrived at my truck, he helped me in, threw my bags into the back then got into the driver’s side. Thank fuck that hadn’t been damaged by falling debris. I only got it yesterday after having to replace the other one after our unfortunate vampire-related accident two weeks ago.

  Seriously, how was this my life now?

  “How did you get here?”

  “My motorcycle,” he said. “I’ll get it tomorrow.”

  On the drive to his place, we didn’t talk, mostly because I was contemplating how I was going to get my hands on more unicorn statues. I was definitely going to be hitting up Amazon when I got to his place. I looked at Sawyer from the corner of my eye. I wondered if he’d store all my awesome new unicorn purchases when they arrived.

  Finally, sick of the silence, I sighed. “I hope you have lots of storage space. At least an empty closet I can use. Maybe a shit ton of Tupperware? Storage locker?”

  His gaze flickered over to me briefly before returning to the road. “Why would I need lots of storage?”

  “Why?” I asked, outraged. “For all the unicorn statues I’ll be getting delivered to your place while I look for somewhere else to live.”

  He arched a brow, then slowly ran his fingertips along the sweep of the steering wheel as he thought. “You’re buying more unicorn statues?”

  I jerked my head around to face him, my mouth popping open. “After that destruction, why wouldn’t I get more?”

  Shaking his head, he said, “I don’t even know where to begin answering that.”

  I snorted. “Start by saying you have available storage at your place.”

  I took his silence as agreement.

  “I don’t even know where you live.”

  “And why would you?”

  “I don’t know. We’re partners. You know where I live… correction, lived.”

  He shook his head after a minute, clearly having undergone some sort of silent conversation with himself that I had nothing to do with. “I live in the Astoria Building.”

  I whistled through my teeth. “That new one on 5th?” At his nod, I added, “Who knew Buxton PD paid so well.” I knew that wasn’t it. I’d found out he was pretty old––like 1860s old––so being loaded seemed to be a thing these supes had going for them.

  “Well, I hope you have Netflix because I have a list as long as my arm of all the shows I want to binge.” He gave me a sideways glance before returning his eyes to the road. “Like chick flicks.”

  I smiled when I heard him groan.

  He finally slowed my truck in front of his building, reversing into a spot that had just freed up. Looking out the window, I stared up at the Astoria Building. It was a forty-plus story building made of steel and glass.

  “Which one is yours?” I asked, gesturing to the behemoth on the other side of the street.

  He bobbed down and pointed about two-thirds of the way up the structure. “Thirty-third floor.”

  I opened my door. “So, you actually h
ave room for me here?”

  “I have a spare room that you can use for as long as you need.”

  “Does it come with a wake-up call?”

  I grinned at the flat stare he gave me. “This isn’t a hotel, Cat.”

  We walked into the lobby, greeting the doorman as we did. The lobby was filled with white marble floors and off-white walls. Recessed lighting spotlit expensive artworks on the walls and objects d’art carefully displayed in niches.

  I whistled through my teeth. “How much was this place?”

  “Enough,” he replied simply, reaching for the elevator button. The up arrow lit, and we waited.

  “Thank you for taking me in.”

  “What are partners for?”

  The elevator arrived and we got inside, riding the thirty-three floors up to his apartment. When the car slowed to a stop and opened with a pleasant ding!, I followed him to the door. When I stepped inside, I found his personal space was filled with warm woods and taupe furniture. His place was about triple the size my apartment had been with a large gourmet kitchen, an even larger living room and a hallway that led into even more rooms.

  “You must be exhausted,” he said. “Do you want to go straight to bed, or would you like to eat first?”

  God, how long had it been since I’d eaten?

  “Food, please.”

  He gave me a tight nod and walked us toward the giant stainless-steel and black marble kitchen. Depositing me on a stool, he walked into the galley kitchen and ran a dish towel under the tap. He tossed the cloth to me and nodded at my hands.

  I glanced down. Right. Covered in blood.

  While I got busy cleaning my hands, he pulled open the fridge and began rummaging through until he found what he was looking for. I watched him throw together a couple of sandwiches, adding a handful of chips on the side.

  I grinned at him. “Mrs. Brown used to do that, too,” I told him, munching on a chip.

  “You can’t have a sandwich without them,” he replied, taking a bite of his own meal. “How are you feeling? How’s the knee? Can I get you anything?”

  “I couldn’t get into my bathroom to get the pain meds,” I said. “Would you be able to get some more from the drug store?”

  “Sure. I’ll go after dinner.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.” We ate together in silence, and for once, I had nothing funny to say, no amusing observations that I knew Sawyer enjoyed hearing. I blamed it on the wave of exhaustion suddenly crashing over me.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go and get your knee looked at in the hospital?”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “I really think you should.”

  I stared at him. “If it gets any worse, I’ll go to the hospital. Promise.”

  Sawyer seemed to be happy enough with that answer because he went back to eating. Meanwhile, I was struggling against the tide of exhaustion that was threatening to take over. Propping my head in my hand, I watched him for a moment…

  “Cat? Wake up.”

  “Hmm?” I mumbled, wiping my gritty eyes. I could barely open them, but when I did, I got an up-close-and-personal of Sawyer’s painfully handsome face. He was staring at me with such concern, his gray eyes soft and tender.

  “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

  “Bed…” Yeah, that sounded pretty good. He helped me stand, leading me down in a shuffle to a guest bedroom.

  “Stay there, and I’ll get you changed.”

  Changed? No, I didn’t need help with that. Blindly, I swatted away his hands as he undid the buttons on my jeans.

  “Shh, Cat, let me help you.” Sawyer gently moved my hands out of the way.

  “Fine, but don’t stare at any of my fun-zones for more than two seconds,” I grouched in a sleep-heavy slur.

  His chuckle was warm and comforting in my ear. “Even semi-conscious…” His words turned muffled, and although I wanted to demand what he was thinking, my mouth was clamped shut, my brain shutting down and sliding into REM land.

  I jerked back into awareness when Sawyer slid my foot through the leg of my jeans. “Don’t forget the card,” I mumbled incoherently.

  “What card?” he whispered.

  I frowned. “The one in my back pock—”

  Four

  I woke with a start, trying to figure out where I was and who I was with. I didn’t wake up in random people’s bedrooms all that often, but if I had had sex last night, it was super unmemorable.

  Sucked to be that guy.

  I turned my head when I heard someone banging around in the room beyond, then my gaze dropped to my bags set against the wall.

  Sawyer’s apartment.

  That’s where I was.

  Rubbing my face, I threw off the blanket that had been laid across my body and…

  Gone were my filthy, blood-soaked clothes from last night, and in their place were my cute pajamas featuring unicorns carrying submachine guns. Sure, they were a little unbelievable—I mean, everyone knew unicorns preferred grenade launchers—but I didn’t discriminate when it came to unicorns.

  Ever.

  I got a flash of a memory.

  Sawyer removing my pants gently.

  Me telling him to avert his eyes…

  Him chuckling…

  Shaking my head, I told myself I could be embarrassed later. Slowly, I sat up and slid off the edge of the mattress. When I stood, I prepared for a flash of pain to shoot through my unbraced knee. I looked down when there wasn’t even a twinge. In fact, even the bruising had faded along with the swelling. Bending my knee a few times, I tested it.

  No pain.

  No spasms.

  No aches.

  It was like the bone bruise had never happened.

  “How’s it feeling?” Sawyer asked.

  I glanced up to find him leaning against the door, two mugs of coffee in his hands. Pushing off the jamb, he strolled toward me, handing a mug to me.

  I took a sip then replied, “Brand new. But how?”

  He ducked his eyes. “I called in a favor.”

  “A favor from who?”

  “Don’t you mean from whom?”

  “Don’t correct my grammar. Tell me who healed me.”

  Lowering himself onto the edge of my bed, he looked down into his coffee cup. “A gnome.”

  “Like what you find in the garden?”

  Shaking his head, he said, “No, not like that at all.” He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger like talking to me was exhausting. “Look, your knee is healed now. Can we just leave it at that?”

  I studied his face. “Why?”

  “Because I asked him to.”

  “No, not that. Why did you use your favor for me?”

  “Because I don’t like to see you in pain.” Sawyer’s gaze became remote, like he was trying to shut a door on his emotions. “Who gave you that card?”

  I blinked, thrown by the change of subject. “What card?”

  “The one I took out of your back pocket last night,” he prompted. “The black one on the bureau.”

  Oh, that card.

  Running my fingers over the rim of my mug, I murmured, “Alistair came to see me before everything went down.”

  His brows rose. “Did he? How did he know where you lived?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t want to particularly think of that either. Just having the vampire in my apartment had been enough of a mind-fuck. “No clue, but he was waiting at my door after my therapist appointment yesterday afternoon.”

  “What did he say?”

  I stood, marveling at the complete lack of pain, and walked over to the bureau to pick up the heavy-stock business card. Flipping it over and over again in my fingers, the gilt edges winked with each revolution. “He told me I was under the protection of the kiss, that all I had to do was say the mistress’s name three times when I was ready to call in that favor.”

  When he stayed quiet, I stared at him. That remote expression hadn’t shifted from his face, a
nd the fact that it hadn’t made my heart pound.

  “Just say it.”

  “What?”

  “Tell me what bad juju this is.” Steeling myself with a sip of caffeine, I asked, “What have I gotten myself into now?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of the kiss extending protection to anyone like this before.”

  “Oh, great! So I’m the guinea pig for vampires now? Seriously?”

  “It’ll be fine, Cat.”

  Narrowing my eyes at him, I said, “Not making me feel any better here. If anything, I can add scared out of my pants to my already full dance card of pissed off, a feeling of impending doom, and crippling anxiety.”

  Later that day, I collapsed onto the other side of the couch Sawyer was sitting on. My mind was fried after spending the afternoon researching the symbols that had been carved into Sharyn’s body and getting absolutely nowhere. I’d followed link after link, breadcrumb after breadcrumb until my head was full of signs, ideograms and hieroglyphics.

  There had been a couple of possible explanations for the markings I’d seen, but neither of them truly fit since there were slight differences between the ones I’d seen online and the ones Sawyer had snapped on his phone.

  Perhaps I needed a more direct source. My first thought had been Kailon, but I was wary of asking the fae. I didn’t want to owe him anything. Being indebted to a fae could lead me to being obliged to hand over anything from a cheeseburger to my first-born child.

  Passing me a beer, Sawyer took a sip of his own drink and swallowed. “Find anything?”

  “Nada. You?”

  He shook his head. On the table in front of him were open books stacked one on top of the other along with a pad of paper that had doodles of the symbols on it.

  “Got any witches on your payroll?” I asked off-handedly.

  “I’ve already called her. We’re meeting her first thing Monday morning.”

  “Really? I was kind of joking. Can we trust her?”

  “Yeah, we can. She’s been officially and unofficially helping me with cases for a few years now.”

  “Who is she?” I took a long pull from my beer.