Читать книгу Grey's Magic - Dawn Addonizio - Страница 8

Grey stood at the window, looking out at a tall sugar maple that shaded the west side of the house from the afternoon sun. The local police had gone, and the interior was dim and silent.

It was strange how the place already felt stale and uninhabited, as if the house’s life-force had been snuffed out with its owner’s.

He sighed and walked over to the fish tank. It rested on a long table behind the couch, level with the top of the cushions. He imagined the latest vic, Heather Peters, stretching out and relaxing as she watched its colorful denizens go about their lives behind the glass.

Purple anemones, red sea stars and tiny stalk-eyed crabs littered the sandy floor, while tropical fish of all sizes and hues darted through the rocky coral labyrinth above. A small blue eel and a frilly lionfish were two of the more impressive specimens inhabiting the little underwater universe.

The fish whizzed around erratically when they saw him and he wondered when they’d last been fed. He found containers of flakes and dried shrimp on the shelf below, and sprinkled some of each into the water. He watched as the food was quickly devoured and added some more.

Ms. Peters had obviously taken pride in the saltwater tank. It was well maintained, and probably worth thousands of dollars. It saddened him to think what would happen to all of the beautiful fish now that she was gone.

Hopefully her family would make sure it was taken care of. But in cases like these, maintaining a home where a loved one was murdered was often the last thing on a family member’s mind.

Grey had arrived on the scene in time to snap some shots of the body before it was taken to the morgue. He’d also arrived in time to witness the heart wrenching spectacle of Heather Peters’ mother driving to her daughter’s house in a state of panic and denial.

The local uniforms had tried to keep her away, but they hadn’t been able to prevent her from seeing the black body bag rolled out on a stretcher by the coroner. Grey clenched his jaw and rubbed his forehead at the memory.

He knew it wasn’t the sheriffs’ fault. It wasn’t as if they could restrain a terrified mother from driving to her own child’s home. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but the piece of shit psycho who was doing this.

And his.

He’d been chasing the bastard for three months and didn’t have a damn thing to show for it but a laughably general profile: white male, age 25-35, probably employed in a position calling for regular interstate travel.

Grey had yet to find any solid connections between the victims. They had different physical characteristics, different jobs, different interests, and lived in different states. They were all raped and strangled by hand, but there were no prints and the crime scenes were all infuriatingly clean. There was an unusual herbal odor at each one, but no residue had been found for the lab to identify.

Grey shook his head and jogged up the stairs to take another look at the bedroom where Heather Peters’ boyfriend had found her body. The walls were painted a deep sage green. The color reminded him of light filtering through the trees in a forest.

Book shelves lined the walls on either side of the king sized bed, and a flat screen tv sat inside a large cabinet across from the footboard.

He squatted in front of one of the book shelves, perusing the titles. They were mostly fiction, ranging from romance to fantasy to horror, with a few titles on lucid dreaming and astral travel. So Heather Peters had at least a passing interest in the occult.

That was interesting. He’d found an old Ouija Board at the home of the vic in Texas, and a well-used deck of tarot cards in the nightstand of the New Hampshire vic. The woman in Key Largo had a large dream catcher hanging over her bed, and the one in Colorado had an impressive collection of Native American Kachina dolls displayed throughout her house.

They were all relatively common items, but collectively they might add up to a connection between the victims that he had missed. Or maybe he was just grasping at straws.

A soft thump sounded behind him and he spun around, remaining in a crouch as he scanned the room, his heart kicking in his chest. He straightened, trying to identify the source of the noise, and saw a hand written journal lying open on the wood floor near the book shelves on the other side of the bed.

He crossed the room and bent to pick it up, realizing it must have fallen off the shelf. He smirked at himself for being so jumpy and began reading the flowing script on one of the pages. It was a dream journal. And unlike the tempting fantasies his subconscious had cooked up about his mystery woman while he slept last night, Heather Peters had been having some pretty nasty nightmares.

An entry dated only two days before her death spoke of being trapped in a deep pit in the earth that was slowly being overrun by spiders. It sounded unpleasant to him, but apparently it had filled her with the stark, mindless terror that only a phobia could inspire.

He flipped through and saw that she’d been having similarly horrific dreams for more than a week before her death. Whereas before that, the dreams she’d recorded had been sometimes odd, but mostly mundane reconfigurations of daily existence. Albeit with a few erotic fantasies thrown in.

Grey wondered if she had somehow sensed the coming violence that had ended her life. It was an eerie thought to consider, in the stillness and silence of the room that had been her sanctuary before it had become her death chamber.

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket and he jerked, cursing at his reaction. He needed sleep. His nerves were shot.

“Agent Derrington,” he barked, not bothering to check the Caller ID.

“Hey Captain America. You still at the Peters house?” came Liza’s steady voice.

Grey released a weary breath. “Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence, and then, “I heard her mom came by as they were taking her body out.”

Grey ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Yeah. It was a bad scene Lizzie. I really wish it could have been avoided.”

“I’m sorry Grey, me too,” she replied softly. “Did you find anything new?”

He cleared his throat and reached for the detached professionalism he needed to work the case. “I want you to check for any connections between the victims and the occult. Magic, witchcraft, voodoo, alternative spiritualism...check the websites and forums they visited on their computers, check their credit card receipts for new age type stores, anything you can think of. Try to find something that links all five of them.”

“If it’s there, I’ll find it,” she assured him. “Anything else?”

He hesitated and then asked, “Aren’t salt water fish tanks one of your hobbies?”

“Yep. I have three at home.”

“Well, there’s a beautiful one here. And I’m pretty sure taking care of it is the last thing on anyone’s mind. If the family wants it, of course it’s theirs. But in the meantime I was wondering if you’d be interested in trying to keep the fish alive.”

“Love to. I have extra tanks and equipment in my garage. I could come over with a couple of buckets to transport whatever’s there.”

“That’s great, Lizzie. Thanks.”

Maybe it was silly to try to save Heather Peters’ fish, when what he should have done was catch her murderer in time to save her. But it eased his mind to know that at least something she’d cared about, something beautiful and alive, would have a chance to survive.

“Do you want to meet me here after work?” he asked.

“I hate being the bearer of bad tidings again,” Liza said with an audible groan. “But there’s been another murder, Grey. I’ll make arrangements to pick up the fish, but you’re on your way back to Florida in an hour—Palm Beach this time.”

“How the hell is he doing it?” Grey murmured, torn between anger and despair.

“I don’t know, Captain America, but if anyone can catch him it’s you.”

She sounded as if she truly believed it, and Grey wished his waning confidence matched hers. “He’s escalating,” he said grimly. “That means he’s more likely to make a mistake.”

“They all do...eventually,” she replied in a bleak tone. “But you’d better get to the airport. I’ll text your trip details, but there’s some kind of convention going on down there and they haven’t found you a hotel room yet.”

“Great,” he mumbled sourly. “Maybe I can grab a cot at the local police station.”

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

When Scarlett was showered and changed, she blinked to the Peg Station at the outskirts of Seelie City. The city was a bustling metropolis, the largest urban area in the faerie realm, and home to a diverse population of immortal residents.

It was also home to the Seelie Police Station, which was why she couldn’t blink directly there. The entire district was protected by a binding spell to keep prisoners from escaping during transportation and confinement. Only high level Seelie employees, like Pat, could bypass it.

Scarlett waited her turn at the Peg Station, nodding politely at a hale dwarven woman with twin half-moon axes strapped to her leather cuirass. The stout warrior leapt onto the back of a kneeling pegasus, giving Scarlett a wave as they trotted past.

A handsome blue roan stepped forward and knelt low for Scarlett to mount, his wings folded tight to his sides. She asked him to drop her at the police station as he rose, and he settled into a comfortable canter with her astride.

Pegs never flew with passengers on their backs unless it was an emergency. Although it was undoubtedly a faster method of travel, they considered it demeaning.

At first there were only soft grasses as far as the eye could see, pegs dotting the meadows as they grazed between fares. Then gradually the city came into view. Its towering buildings of white marble and quartz glistened in the afternoon sunlight, its perpetual haze of faerie dust lending a mystical shimmer to the air.

Scarlett hadn’t been to Seelie City for ages, and she murmured softly in appreciation.

“Lovely, ain’t it?” rumbled the peg beneath her.

“It’s been a while. I’d forgotten how the buildings, and even the air itself, sparkle with faerie magic.”

The peg chuckled, the sound vibrating through his barrel chest and into her legs. “It certainly is a sight to see.”

“Is Cybele’s honey shop still on the main thoroughfare?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Do you mind if we make a pit stop there on the way to the police station? I have a brownie at home who’d love a special treat.”

He tossed his head and replied, “Not a problem. You gotta keep the wee folk happy.”

Scarlett smiled and nodded in agreement, falling back into silence as the dirt road gave way to even, brick paved streets. Ancient trees with thick, knobby trunks grew in the grassy median. They towered above the tallest buildings, their massive branches spreading out in leafy canopies above the traffic.

Sprites flitted overhead, leaving colorful trails of faerie dust floating behind them to sprinkle down onto the pegs and their riders. As they approached Cybele’s shop, The Queen Bee, roses and herbs scented the breeze and the buzzing from the charmed bees grew into a steady, musical drone.

The peg slowed to a stop at the curb beside the shop and knelt for Scarlett to dismount.

“I’ll only be a few minutes,” she promised as she peppered his muzzle with some of the oatcake spell she’d brought.

“Take your time,” he replied, whickering his thanks.

She passed beneath a trellis blooming with lavender and white roses and entered the shop. From the outside it appeared to be a small storefront bordered closely by its neighbors. But expansion spells and other enchantments transformed the inside into a bright, sprawling flower garden with walking paths and whimsical stone fountains that watered the blooms.

Honeybees darted about, gathering pollen and returning to their hives, one of which was perched atop the shop-keeper’s head like a giant, fanciful hat.

“Welcome, daughter of the sidhe,” Cybele greeted, her voice carrying a wavering vibrato reminiscent of her bees. “Can I help you find anything?”

Scarlett dipped her head in respect as she approached the tall, robed woman. Legend had it that long ago, when the veil between the faerie and human realms was thin, Cybele had taken up the mantle of a warrior goddess to the humans. It was said that later she forsook her axe to become one of their most potent fertility goddesses.

The tales were steeped in the mists of time, but regardless of their veracity, she was a mysterious and powerful being. Her aura pulsed with strength, and standing beside her was a bit like standing at the foot of an ancient mountain.

“Well, my brownie friend ‘forgot’ to put the lid back on the honey jar this morning,” Scarlett explained with a rueful smile. “So I guess I’m getting a little low on supplies.”

Cybele gave a hearty laugh. “Is there any variety in particular that your wee friend prefers?”

“I usually just buy the local clover honey for our tea. But I was hoping to surprise him with something a tad more exotic.”

“You’ve come to the right place,” Cybele assured her. “I have some gorgeous herbal varieties at the moment. The rosemary in particular is quite lovely. Come, let me give you a sample.”

Scarlett followed her to the honey bar and accepted a tiny spoon of the ambrosial nectar, groaning at the amazing impression it left on her tongue. She tried a few more, thinking she’d love to linger in the beautiful gardens and taste honey all day. But she was aware of the peg waiting for her outside.

Reluctantly, she wrapped up her selections and exited The Queen Bee with her coin purse lighter and her sweet tooth satisfied. Any moment now, a large box with an assortment of gourmet honeys and biscuits would appear on her kitchen counter.

She had no doubt it would be unpacked and Bradan would have a blissfully full belly by the time she arrived home.

The blue roan peg remained patiently at the curb, and she sat astride him once more as he carried her on to the Seelie Police Station. She thanked him for his service and gave him some more of the oatcake spell before he trotted away.

She hesitated on the sidewalk in front of the entrance to the official-looking building. The Seelie Police Station was the largest complex in the city, housing not only the station, but also the prison.

As with most of the city’s structures, it was laden with spells and enchantments that allowed it to take up far less space on the outside than it did inside. And it was easy to forget that a high security prison lay just behind it, since the austere penal complex was only visible when exiting from the back of the station house.

She took a nervous breath and went in. She knew she’d been a git to needle Pat about his soul mate. She hoped he wasn’t too mad at her.

“Well, if it isn’t young Scarlett Thresher!” exclaimed the shaggy-bearded dwarf behind the front counter. “What brings you to our fair city, lass?”

Scarlett grinned and leaned forward to kiss his wizened brown cheek. “Galen. It’s wonderful to see you. How are you?”

“Can’t complain, lass, can’t complain.”

“Not even about the troubles with goblins and the depredations of dragons?” Scarlett asked with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Galen snorted. “You always were a bit of a wise ass, Letty.”

Scarlett laughed. “How’s your sister doing?”

“Galena? She’s as ornery as ever. Still runnin’ covert missions for the force. She’s gotten so good at disguises, I swear sometimes even I don’t recognize her.”

“She always was clever,” Scarlett said fondly.

“Don’t tell her that,” Galen grunted. “It’ll go straight to her fat head.”

Scarlett scowled at him.

“You know I’m just teasin’, lass,” he said with a chuckle. “So what is it that brings you to the police station this fine afternoon? No crimes to report, I hope.”

“I’m not sure,” she replied with a sigh. “I need to speak with Pat about something that happened in the human realm. I think an immortal may have killed a woman there.”

Galen blew a breath out through his teeth. “Breaches between our worlds seem to be happenin’ more and more of late. Makes you wonder if the veil between the realms might be slippin’, whether the Seelie Court likes it or not.”

He shook his head. “I’ll get Pat for ya. He’s locked himself in his office to finish up some paperwork, but I’m certain he’ll be glad to see you.”

“I’m not so sure,” she muttered as he hopped down from his stool and disappeared through the doorway behind him.

Scarlett fidgeted as she waited, questioning her plan to show up unannounced at Pat’s workplace. She’d almost lost her nerve by the time Galen returned to the lobby with Pat in tow.

“Letty? What are you doing here?” Pat asked, looking concerned.

“I need to talk to you about last night.”

He raised a dark brow and crossed his muscular arms over his chest. “What about it?”

Scarlett puffed in annoyance. He obviously wasn’t in the mood to make things easy for her. “In private, Pat.” She looked at the dwarf apologetically. “No offense, Galen.”

“None taken,” he replied in a gruff tone as he nimbly climbed back up onto his stool. He looked askance at Pat. “Give the lady a break, Sparrow, she came a long way to see you.”

Pat rolled his eyes and dropped his arms to his sides. “Fine. Follow me, Letty.”

He strode back through the doorway behind the counter and she rushed to catch up with him before he disappeared from sight. A few of the younger police officers were hanging out at a cluster of desks in the room beyond. The smell of burnt coffee was heavy in the air.

She followed Pat toward his office, holding her tongue as she hurried down the hallway behind him. He opened a door at the end of the corridor, and led her inside a small room with two desks and a rolling leather chair positioned between them.

“I’m sorry, Pat,” she said as soon as he closed the door.

He looked like she’d caught him off guard, so she pressed on.

“Whatever is between you and your human...Sydney,” she added at his warning look, “is none of my business. I was feeling a bit off my nut after being surrounded by humans all day. But that’s no excuse. You’re one of my oldest friends, and I shouldn’t have bashed your relationship.”

Pat’s office chair groaned beneath his weight as he dropped into it. He exhaled, his blue eyes boring into hers, as if he was trying to figure out how to respond.

“Letty,” he said finally, “I know how you feel about humans. And I know why you feel that way. But Sydney is my soul mate. I’ve waited my entire life to find her, and I don’t have the words to tell you how important she is to me. You’re going to have to accept that, when it comes to her, I have no patience for your prejudices.”

Scarlett swallowed and nodded. “I know, Pat. I’m going to try harder to get my head straight about the human thing.” She grimaced. “Between you and Doyle, I’m going to have to. It’s just that it’s...difficult for me to spend time in their realm. It brings up memories that I can’t seem to let go. No matter how hard I try.”

The sorrow in Pat’s eyes was so sharp it should have cut her. “You’ve never told anyone what happened, have you?”

She looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “I can’t. It would make it too real. It’s bad enough that you know.” She realized she was picking at her finger again and she wrapped her other hand around it, hiding it from view.

“It is real, Letty,” he said softly. “It happened. You were only sixteen, and you were raped. It shouldn’t have happened, and it wasn’t your fault, but it did happen. And it’s not something you’re just going to be able to ‘let go’. Keeping it a secret is like leaving an open wound untreated. It can’t help but to fester. Don’t you know that by now?”

She took a shaky breath, and admitted to herself that he might be right. But when she played through the scenarios of talking about it with her mother, her father, her brother...it was simply too awful. She shook her head in denial. “I can’t. I just can’t, Pat, okay? Not right now.”

She hadn’t seen him move, but suddenly he was standing beside her. He enfolded her in a fierce hug and she stiffened in his arms.

“I’m so sorry, Letty,” he murmured brokenly. “You’ll never know how sorry I am that I didn’t get there sooner. But you have to promise me you’ll deal with it. You can’t let it fester any longer. It’s like a shadow that’s been hanging over you your entire life, and I can’t bear to see it anymore. I want to see you happy.”

His words hit her with quiet force, his sympathy breaking apart the fragile barrier she’d been working all day to erect against the memories. A sob shuddered through her frame and tears rolled down her cheeks, soaking into his white cotton shirt as she hid her face from him.

Her muscles began to shake, as if the past had become a physical weight she could no longer carry. Finally she relented and sagged in his embrace, allowing him to hold her as she wept.

She didn’t know how long she cried, but as her tears began to subside, she was mortified that she’d broken down in front of him. She cleared her throat and tried to pull away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered raggedly.

He grasped her shoulders and gave her a stern shake. “Don’t you do that, Letty Thresher,” he insisted. “You’ve had nigh on a hundred and eighty years of holding that shite in, and you deserve to let it out.”

There was a catch in his voice, and when she lifted her gaze, his eyes were moist. She let out a fractured laugh, loving him more in that moment than she ever had.

“You sappy wanker,” she sniffed, giving him a tremulous smile. “Is this what I can expect from you and Doyle now that you’re both in love? A bunch of talking about our feelings and weeping like little girls?”

He chuckled. “You are such a hard ass. And I’m so going to remind you of it when you find your soul mate and turn into a big, sappy puddle of goo every time he comes near you.”

Scarlett snorted. “Please. Never going to happen.”

“I’ll bet you a shot of whiskey you will,” he goaded.

“You’re on,” Scarlett agreed confidently as she brushed away the last of her tears.

“We’ll see,” he taunted. He tweaked her nose and retreated behind his desk before she could retaliate. “And one more thing, Letty,” he added.

She raised a brow at him.

“Crying doesn’t make you weak.” He held her gaze stubbornly until her lips twitched and she accepted his words with a slight nod.

He grinned. “Well, now that that’s sorted, didn’t I interrupt you groveling for forgiveness or something?” he asked, dodging her half-hearted punch.

“Actually, there is something…” she sighed. She told him about her encounter with Agent Greyson Derrington of the FBI and the Morpheus potion she’d smelled on him.

“He must have picked up the scent at the murder scene,” she insisted.

Pat frowned at her. “Are you certain he was human?”

She gave him a dry look.

“Right. Stupid question,” he apologized. “But has it occurred to you that he might not have been who he said he was? Maybe he made the whole thing up, or maybe he was the killer, and you scared him off when he realized he couldn’t subdue you.”

Scarlett shook her head slowly. She could still see Agent Derrington’s dark, mesmerizing eyes as he tried to show her his badge and explain what he was doing standing in the shadowy yard.

“He was telling the truth. I’d bet my life on it.”

Pat leaned back in his chair, astonishment etching his features as he stared at her. “You’d bet your life that a human was telling you the truth,” he repeated.

She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing how crazy that sounded coming from her. Her reaction to Agent Derrington confused her, but she knew she was right about him.

“Just run a check on him, will you?” she demanded in exasperation.

Pat leaned forward to type something into his computer system, glancing up at her as he waited for the results. The calculating gleam in his eyes made her feel edgy.

“Greyson Derrington,” he read, taking in the features of the rugged black man pictured on the screen. “Male, age thirty-seven, Lead Investigator for the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Behavioral Analysis Unit Two, specializing in serial and mass murders, sexual assault, kidnapping, and other crimes targeting adults…”

“Let me see that,” she interrupted, hopping around his desk to read over his shoulder. “Military background consisting of eight years in the United States Marine Corp,” she continued reading in a murmur, “six of which were spent in Forces Special Operations Command.”

Pat whistled. “No wonder this guy almost kicked your butt. Those Special Ops guys are bad ass.”

She jabbed him in the shoulder. “I didn’t say he almost kicked my butt; I said we were evenly matched,” she huffed. “And he said he was with the FBI—what’s that?”

“That’s the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” Pat grunted at her blank look. “He’s like a detective that has jurisdiction over his entire country. It’s an elite human law enforcement organization for the United States.”

Her lips rose in a slow smile. “So he kind of has the human realm’s equivalent of your job. Scroll down. What else does it say?”

He tapped a key and the screen went blank. “Why are you so interested?” he asked with a smirk.

“I’m not!” she exclaimed defensively. “But I was obviously right about this guy telling the truth, so why don’t you quit wasting time and see what you can find out about a woman being murdered down the street from Doyle?” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

Pat snorted, his smug expression making her want to smack him. He tapped another key and the screen on Agent Derrington popped back into view. Then he typed a quick command and they were looking at a summary of Derrington’s current case files.

The names of five women were highlighted in red with the word DECEASED next to them in all capital letters. The teasing look faded from Pat’s eyes as he scanned through the details of each file.

“Dragon dung,” he cursed softly. “This is bad, Letty.