by Lauren Dawes
“Who do you think she is?” I asked.
“I’m not sure.” While he got a closer look, I checked out more of the scene. There were more scorch marks and chunks of burned wood littering the floor of the rotunda. The railings had taken a lot of damage, holes punched out every few feet. Catching a glimpse of something contrasting against the white wood, I found her purse. It was dangling from the edge, the strap caught against a popped nail.
“Sawyer,” I called. He came over, and I caught a whiff of his chocolate and whisky scent, trying to ignore how good he smelled. “Look.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a set of gloves and handed them to me. Sliding them onto my hands, I picked up the purse and opened it. Tissues. Pepper spray. A Harlequin romance novel. When I found her wallet, I pulled out her ID.
“Samantha Giles,” I said. “Thirty-one. Lives not too far from here.”
Sawyer checked out the address, then stared in the direction of her house like he could see it through the trees. “Our witch must’ve caught her cutting through the park to get home.”
I nodded with his assessment. “Do you think she was killed before or after our witch attacked me last night?”
“I’m not sure.”
I stared into her face, a face that looked calmly serene considering what she’d been through. Did she put up a fight, and if she did, what was her magic of choice?
Magic of choice.
“I wonder…”
“What?”
I turned to Sawyer. “Last night, before the witch attacked me, the streetlights all exploded.” Looking down at Samantha. “What if Samantha manipulated electricity and that’s what our witch stole?”
“A possibility. Or maybe it was just light she controlled.”
“I guess we’ll never find out, will we?” I said, sadly. “What time do you think she was killed?”
“Judging by the condition of her body, I’d say between twelve and fifteen hours ago. The ME will give us a more accurate time of death once the autopsy has been done.”
He took another look at the ID, then at the purse still clutched tightly in my hands. “Anything else in there that might give us a clue?”
“Look, the girl liked smutty romance books, so she could’ve been into anything.” Still, I dug a little deeper and pulled out a metal name tag that had the logo of one of the luxury hotels in Buxton on it. I flashed him the badge. “She worked at The Palatial.”
“We’ll go speak to the staff after the ME and CSI are done here.”
I glanced up over the railing then to see some of the CSI team arriving. We still didn’t have a team just for supernatural crimes, which was stupid, but I wasn’t in the habit of making my thoughts known.
Sawyer and I stood back while they worked, instructing the scene photographer to capture all the scorch marks and the position of the feathers. With every minute that passed, I was getting more and more caffeine-deprived. By the time they were done, it was close to ten o’clock.
“Argh, I need coffee,” I announced to Sawyer as we walked back to his motorcycle.
“We can get some after we notify Sam’s family of her death, then we’re heading to The Palatial to see what we can find out.”
Eleven
The Palatial was one of the premier luxury hotels in Buxton. It was a fusion of art deco architecture and modern design—a place where the rich and famous of Buxton could come to play when they were taking a break from their glamorous lives.
When Sawyer and I arrived, a doorman opened the huge glass and bronze door, welcoming us inside. After delivering the bad news to Sam’s mother, I felt terrible. Losing a daughter was difficult under the best circumstances. Add a death curse into the mix, and Ms. Giles was understandably upset.
I could still hear her desperate words to me as we left. “You catch this witch and make her pay for her crimes. My Samantha was a kind soul… she didn’t deserve this.”
Each clutching our cups of coffee, Sawyer and I headed straight to the reception desk where a pretty twenty-something was just finishing up a phone call. I watched, annoyed, as she gave my partner the once-over and put down the phone.
“Hello and welcome to The Palatial. Are you checking in?” she asked him, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder and pouting her filler-swollen lips. She was unashamedly ogling Sawyer—unashamedly flirting with him too.
Bitch.
Sawyer pulled out his badge and flashed it at her. “Detective Sawyer with PIG. This is my partner, Officer McKenzie. We were wondering if the night manager is still here. We’d like to have a word.”
Her eyes widened a little, her hand fluttering and coming to rest on her chest in concern. Girl, please. All she was interested in doing was drawing attention to her boobs. “Ms. Perkins is out back. I’ll just get her for you.”
She picked up the phone, hit a number, and spoke quietly into the receiver before hanging up. “You can take a seat on the couches over there.” She pointed to a set of plush burgundy and velvet, then hit Sawyer with a mega-watt smile. “By the way, my name’s Greta, and I’d be happy to help you with anything else you need…” She hesitated, like she was deliberating on whether she should add like a blow job?
With a tight smile, Sawyer said, “Thanks,” then walked across the foyer.
I slumped down into one of the couches, balancing my takeout coffee cup on my knee, while Sawyer took the other. I stared at him, wondering whether he was going to go and fuck Big, Blonde, and Buxom behind the receptionist’s desk.
“Are you going to feed from her?” I asked, blurting out the words I didn’t want to voice.
His brows rose. “From whom?”
I jerked my chin in Greta’s directions. “Whom?” I mimicked. “The blonde behind the desk.”
Sawyer glanced over quickly, his gaze not lingering on her for more than a moment. Greta, on the other hand, had been watching him openly, and when he’d looked over, she began to flip her hair in an almost manic fervor. It was as if she thought there was a direct correlation between the number of times she touched her hair and the likelihood of Sawyer getting into her pants. “She’s attracted to me,” he replied.
No shit. “Yeah, but are you attracted to her? If she offered to get on her knees right here and now and suck your cock, would you let her?”
His eyes simmered with heat. “I never pass up an opportunity to feed.”
Not the answer I’d wanted to hear.
Argh, why was I so jealous?
I got busy looking at my coffee cup.
“Hello,” a woman said. I glanced up. “I’m Sally Perkins, The Palatial’s night manager. Greta said you needed to speak to me?”
Sawyer stood up smoothly, while I clambered out of my seat like a baby hippo stuck in mud. “Ms. Perkins, thank you for seeing us. My partner and I are here investigating a case, and we were wondering if you could answer some of our questions.”
The woman clasped her hands in front of her. “Of course. Let’s go back to my office where we can have some privacy.”
We followed her out of the glitzy marble and copper reception area and through a door into a white hallway. There were other doors shooting off it on either side, and she led us into one of those rooms, closing the door behind her.
“Please. Take a seat.”
I got a good look at Ms. Perkins as she settled behind a flimsy-looking desk covered in files, pens, and Post-it notes. She was an older woman, maybe in her mid-fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and a kind face. She looked like a grandmother, just waiting to impart some words of wisdom. Her dark brown eyes remained on me for a lot longer than was necessary, her gaze flickering to my chest, then back to my face. She gave me a smile when she saw me watching her.
I frowned.
Somehow, that smile looked familiar.
Settling her hands in front of her on the desk, she said, “You said you had some questions for me?”
Sawyer set up his phone to record and placed the device on the edg
e of the desk. “Yes, we believe you may be able to help us with an investigation involving Samantha Giles.”
“Is she one of your employees?” I asked.
“Yes, she is.” She looked at Sawyer. “Is Sam in some sort of trouble?”
Ignoring Ms. Perkins’s concern for Samantha, he asked, “Can you tell me if she worked yesterday?”
“Yes. She finished at six-thirty last night, just after I came in.”
“Do you know how she got home?”
Her brows furrowed. “She walked. Why?”
Sawyer and I looked at each other. Then, he said, “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but her body was found this morning in Buxton Municipal Park.”
Sally covered her mouth with her hand, tears spearing her kind brown eyes. “Oh dear, how terrible.”
“We apologize for having to do this, but in order to catch who killed her, we’re going to need your help.” He waited for her to nod, then added, “What can you tell us about Samantha?”
Ms. Perkins eased back into her seat, folding slightly shaking hands in front of her. “She was one of my best reception staff. She was never late. Always went out of her way to ensure guest happiness and expectations. I’m going to miss her.” She took a deep breath. “Have you informed her mother yet?”
“Yes, we spoke with her before coming here.”
Sally dipped her chin in understanding. “What else would you like to know about Sam?”
“How long had she worked here?” Sawyer asked.
“I hired her about eighteen months ago.”
I said, “Did you know she was a witch?”
“Yes, and a quite powerful one at that.”
“Do you happen to know her power?” Sawyer asked.
Her eyes flickered to him. “She was a Radiant… a controller of light, and the only Radiant in the country. They are, apparently, a rare breed.”
“Why do you know so much about witches?” I asked. “Are you also a witch?”
“No, dear. Sam told me, although she was terrified she’d lose her job.” Then she fixed her eyes on me, and I felt the gravity of her stare. Why did I get the sense that she knew me? “She couldn’t change being a witch any more than Cat could help being her parents’ daughter.”
I straightened in my chair, the hair on the back of my neck prickling. “What did you say?”
She gave me a slightly exasperated sigh—just like Mrs. Brown used to give me when I got mouthy—and added softly, “It’s nice to see you again, Catherine.”
Sawyer was looking between us. “Do you two know each other?”
“No,” I said, while Sally said, “Yes.”
Another one of those sighs. “Really, Cat, you don’t recognize me?”
I squinted at her—you know because that helps you so much, right? The sledgehammer of awareness had yet to hit. Maybe my brain was too busy trying to process everything else that had happened this week—losing my apartment, my new truck, and my necklace all within the space of a couple of days—to work through this problem, but I didn’t recognize her. I saw flashes that reminded me of Mrs. Brown, but mannerisms and smiles weren’t enough to make one person into someone else.
“Perhaps this would help,” Sally said, beginning to shake her head slowly. I blinked as her salt and pepper hair gave way to familiar black curls. Her face changed shape, but her eyes didn’t. They stayed kind and dark. I watched, rapt, when she seemed to shrink in her chair, her head and shoulders sinking closer and closer to the top of the desk.
“Mrs. Brown?” I croaked, standing up. I felt rooted to the spot. My heart lurched in my chest.
Could it really be her?
Could she really be sitting in front of me?
“Yes, dear.” She stood, and I realized she was just as short as I remembered. Walking around the desk, the top of her head barely met my stomach.
I fell to my knees, tears burning my eyes. I tried like hell to blink them back, but it was a losing battle. I wrapped my arms around her and hugged tightly. She slid her arms around me too.
“Where did you go?” I asked her, pulling away. “I never heard from you after I left for college.”
She cupped my face, her palms warm and soft. “You didn’t need me anymore, Cat. You’d grown up and were experiencing life.”
I shook my head. “But… why did you leave me?” All of my abandonment issues were rearing their heads right now. Fuck.
“Because I had someone else to look after, another young woman who needed my help and guidance.”
Guidance? “What are you?” I whispered the question, almost afraid of the answer she’d give me. If she said a banshee or something, I didn’t think I could handle it.
“I’m a Brownie, dear. I… help people when they need it for as long as they need it. My ilk is well known for our nurturing nature and fondness for both human and fae children.”
“But my parents…” I switched direction and said, “What about Rogue Faction?”
Her eyes widened a little as she brought a hand to her mouth. “You know about—”
“Yes.”
“How?”
I got a flash of Draco’s face in my mind’s eye.
Draco, the vampire who had killed my father in cold blood.
Draco, the vampire who had killed my first partner in order to engineer my reassignment to PIG.
Draco, whose head I took with the help of Reaver.
“A little vampire told me,” I replied.
Mrs. Brown nodded slowly, then said, “Your parents knew what I was and kept my secret safe… not that Brownies were ever hunted by Rogue Faction. After your mother’s death, your father asked me to look after you. His heart was too clouded by grief and rage to consider your needs, and I was happy to step in.” She touched my cheek softly. “After all, you are something special.”
“Ha!” I said softly to Sawyer. “See?”
He chuckled. “It was never in doubt.”
“I have so many questions for you,” I told Mrs. Brown. “About Mom and Dad. About who they really were. What they were doing with Rogue Faction.”
“And you’ll be able to ask them, but now is not the time.” She patted my shoulder. “You need to find out who killed Samantha because I fear whoever they are, they aren’t finished yet.”
Twelve
I sat down heavily on my bed, rubbing my face. It had been a long-ass day. After leaving The Palatial, Sawyer and I had returned to the office and tried to come up with a more solid timeline for the killings. What we’d figured out so far was our witch had killed four witches—all powerful in their own rights. She’d stolen their powers, and with that theft, the ability became twisted and warped.
So what did that leave us with?
A serial-killing witch who now had the power to control fire, supernatural creatures, light, and had the ability to seek out any living thing. That had been Sharyn’s power, but she’d needed an organic sample from the target in order to find them. I wondered if the theft of that power gave our witch the ability to find someone more easily than that.
It was too much to even contemplate thinking about. With a long groan, I let myself fall back onto the mattress. “Oww!” I exclaimed, sitting up again and rubbing the back of my head.
I peeled the quilt away and eyed Reaver lying there. “Huh. I guess you’re back.”
Picking up the sword, it heated under my touch, and I could’ve sworn it was happy. Like it missed me. I rubbed my thumb over the etching of my face near the pommel—the same one that triggered it to disappear when needed—and shut my eyes, smiling when I heard laughter echo through the apartment. When I opened my eyes again, the laughter died away, but the warmth remained in the blade. I carried it with me into the bathroom, propping it up on the vanity while I stripped out of my clothes.
Starting up the shower, I waited a few minutes before stepping under the spray. A shower, dinner, then bed. That was all I was planning on doing tonight.
I’d just started wetting
down my hair when I heard a metallic clank…
Then I promptly screamed as the drain in the middle of the shower floor started to move. I watched as it turned around and around, finally being pushed off by a pair of tiny green frog-like hands.
Reaching over, I quickly turned off the water and avoided looking down. “Nope. Not doing this today,” I muttered to myself. Just as I opened the shower door, I screamed. Glanced down. A green hand was on my ankle. I followed the hand to an arm then finally to the body and head of something that looked like the love child of Alien and a kraken… only really, really small.
The green creature’s slimy skin glittered with an iridescent shine as it crawled up from the drain. Using its tentacled legs, it stood, reaching its maximum height of little more than three inches.
I must not tell short jokes, I told myself sternly.
The thing looked up at me, blinking its third eyelid over its muddy green eyes. Its forehead was huge, leaving its eyes on the side of its head rather than at the front.
“What are you?” I asked, frozen in place. “And would you mind…” I motioned to its hand on my ankle.
It uncurled its fingers with agonizing slowness, finally releasing me. Nodding in thanks, I stood there for a moment, contemplating my next move. Screaming and running from the room was always a firm favorite, but then I figured there had to be a reason for this creature coming to visit me. I mean, I knew I attracted these things like I was catnip for supes, but come on…
“I am Grindylow,” the creature said, its voice muffled like it was speaking underwater.
Grindylow? He used it like it was his name rather than what he was. “And what are you doing here?”
He blinked at me with those creepy three-lidded eyes again. “I’ve come to warn you. My mistress sent me.”
“Your mistress?”
He nodded, his tentacle-like hair rocking forward with the movement. The tips curled and writhed like they were alive and capable of independent movement.
“Okay. Sure. Your mistress. What did she say?”
That’s right, Cat! Humor the tiny creature and get the hell out of dodge.
