Maid of Ice

by Shona Husk

  Some of the photos would be posted to social media and would no doubt make their way to the gossip Web sites and magazines. She was okay with that. She was part of his life now and that intrusion was part of the package. She refused to let thoughts of Will ruin the day, but without him stalking Finley perhaps there would be less news to print.

  It wasn’t just the humans that were going to see the pictures. They were also going to be used to show that the Ryder family was taking its promise to rebuild the Albah seriously. The online dating had been set up so now it would be easier for those in the community to find partners, or at least have Albah children.

  “I’ve got an idea.” Alina gathered the moisture from the air then tossed it up into a fine mist. Finley’s breeze caught it, and soft flakes of snow drifted around them.

  That wasn’t the kind of picture that could end up online. Snow didn’t fall in the middle of summer.

  Finley kissed her. “Beautiful.”

  She traced her finger over the scar on his palm. He’d almost died up there on the mountain. If her mother had been quicker to realize Kirin’s trickery in leading her astray then Finley would’ve died.

  Her mother had vanished after that night. Alina’s family was missing from her wedding, but she’d rather her mother not be here.

  “We should probably head back. Archie and Kirin have a flight to catch.” Quinn put his phone away. While he didn’t seem like a king, something about him suggested it would be better to obey.

  The frost that had existed between father and son had vanished. And for today, at least, Archie, Quinn and Finley were behaving like family.

  The Albah were Alina’s family now. She’d discovered the truth about who she was and even though she didn’t know what she was going to do with that knowledge yet, for the first time in her life she was actually living her life and not doing what someone else wanted.

  Finley took her hand and they walked back to the parking lot. A light breeze kept her long dress from dragging in the dirt. She smiled at him. Today everything was perfect.

  Tomorrow?

  Finley had to go back to work.

  She needed to find a job.

  Archie and Kirin were going to wake up the rest of the Keepers before they woke up and fed on the nearest village. The time had come for the Albah to learn what was lost and do more than just survive.

  The Albah had to discover who they really were.

  LADY OF SILVER

  If this is your first look at Shona’s Blood and Silver series, see where it all began!

  A man on a mission

  A brutal crime is haunting detective Dale Morgan. A young woman has been murdered on the city’s outskirts, and her blood drained. Dale suspects the leader of a depraved cult may be to blame. Yet with barely a shred of evidence at the crime scene, Dale will have to turn to the one person despises almost as much as the killers he puts behind bars.

  A woman with secrets

  To humans, Saba Venn is a psychic, but she’s Albah, a race long forgotten by humans but who live amongst them, her powers fueled by blood and silver. She agrees to help Detective Morgan, if it means stopping the vampire cult she believes is behind the killing. But the attraction she feels with Dale is immediate, and as their relationship intensifies she begins to doubt she can keep her secret from him.

  A Lyrical novel on sale now!

  Learn more about Shona Husk at

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/author.aspx/31825

  Chapter 1

  The shop smelled of incense and the false promise of hope as the proprietors preyed on the dreams of the weak. Dale had dragged his mother from too many shops like this, out of too many charlatans’ hands. He pushed through the purple beaded curtain. A delicate chime announced his arrival. From the ceiling, crystals and silver charms glittered. The Silvered Moon was a typical new age shop.

  The woman behind the counter put down the book she was reading and beamed at him. “Can I help you?”

  Like the identification photo he’d seen, she was blond-haired and blue-eyed. Dale pulled his badge. “Saba Venn.”

  The woman checked out his badge, and her happy sales assistant face slipped away. She pointed to a heavy red velvet curtain. “Saba’s with a client.”

  The woman behind the counter looked enough like the woman in the photo for them to be sisters. A family run swindle-shop, how sweet.

  “Boys-in-blue need her help again?” The woman winked like they were sharing a secret.

  Dale gritted his teeth and let her assume. He wasn’t going to admit to anything. The police resorting to so-called psychics was an embarrassment that hadn’t gone public yet. That Saba Venn had gotten lucky a few times didn’t prove anything. That Detective Quinn Ryder had trusted her with more than one missing person’s case said more about the man’s detective skills than Saba’s profession.

  “Take a look around and see if there’s anything you fancy. Maybe an amethyst to de-stress?” She waved toward the fully stocked shelves.

  He didn’t want, or need, anything from here. Crystals. Statues. Herbs that promised to heal. It was a load of crap. His mother had bought into every fanciful claim and done every spell with the hope magic would make her life better. It hadn’t. But her belief had emptied her wallet and taken her life.

  Dale turned in the opposite direction. To one side of the shop, out of sight from the window, was a wall of books. He walked over, needing something to do while he waited, but the jewelry and polished stones held no appeal. Above him, dangling from the ceiling, were angels, dream catchers, and wind chimes. If it hadn’t been for his boss demanding he get a lead and get it fast before the media caught the scent of fresh blood, he wouldn’t be crawling to The Silvered Moon asking for help. One dead body, no clues, no evidence, and nothing the police could act on. Everyone involved in the case knew who’d done it, but it wasn’t against the law to call yourself a god and gather a flock, so the police had sat on their hands, waiting for something bad to happen. Now it had and they couldn’t prove Gwinfor, or his followers, had held the knife.

  The shelves held several titles about vampires. Damn things gave him the creeps. How could anyone be so gullible to actually believe the undead existed, but that was how cults operated. They attracted people who needed something, or someone, to believe in. Gwinfor was a self-proclaimed vampire, and he had a cluster of wannabes all desperate to live forever. This cult was pushing his limits. The less Ms. Venn knew about the case, the better. That way she couldn’t repeat the facts back at him as proof of her psychic knowing. “Freaks.”

  “Detective?”

  He turned but didn’t find the hard edged fraudster he’d expected. Saba Venn waited a couple of steps away. Dressed in jeans and a white shirt, she appeared harmless, prettier than her photo. Her long hair was loosely tied back. Her eyes held his attention for a heartbeat too long. Cobalt blue irises ringed by silver. Too odd to be natural.

  A warning shiver tickled between his shoulder blades. He shrugged and it was gone. Replaced with the safe assumption that she had to be wearing contact lenses.

  The woman behind the counter gave him a wave and grinned. She’d told of his blunder and was now enjoying his discomfort like it was the best entertainment she’d had all day.

  Saba’s lips curved into an uncomfortable apology. “That’s Leira, my sister. I do hope she wasn’t rude. She doesn’t appreciate the work I do for the police.”

  Dale forced a thin smile, his suspicion confirmed. Sisters. Saba’s hair was longer, her chin less pointed. She was a people pleaser, and her sister was a pain in the ass. He would be having some choice words with Quinn next time he saw him.

  “Detective Morgan.” He didn’t offer his hand, and she didn’t seem to expect it. “Is there somewhere we can talk, Ms. Venn?”

  “Saba, please.” She indicated the curtained reading room.

&nb
sp; His skin prickled. If he didn’t believe, why did he care? Really, what was she going to do to him? She was a fake at worst and a reader of body language at best, in which case she was going to see a whole lot of tension and general dislike. Like a cat forced to take a flea bath, this was not his preferred way to spend time. Dale straightened his shoulders and followed. He’d have rather spoken to her in an office than in that curtained room.

  The red curtain closed after him, and he sat at the desk opposite Saba. Cards and stones lay to one side, along with paper and a pencil. In the center of the table was a silver bowl filled with black ink. Carved skeletons chased babies and children around the outside of the bowl. The image was disturbing. Dale couldn’t keep the frown from his face or the icy sweat from tracing a line down his back. What kind of magic did she practice?

  “It’s the circle of life. A reminder that everything has a start and an end. To wish otherwise goes against nature.” Saba turned the bowl to reveal the rest of the design. The children aged to adults, then withered to skeletons.

  Dale leaned back in his seat and tried to project calm. He’d been in rooms with killers, yet this woman was giving him a case of the heebie jeebies that would do a recruit proud.

  Saba leaned forward and rested her forearms on the table. “I’m guessing you’re not here for a reading, Detective Morgan.”

  The woman was genius. “Not for me.” The words came out harsher than he intended. She was Quinn Ryder’s contact, so he had to be civil and put aside his personal prejudices. “I’m here about a case.”

  One fair eyebrow rose. “Did…Ryder send you?”

  She’d caught her stumble, but it had been too late. Saba was on a first name basis with Detective Ryder. She tilted her head and gazed at him. Her unnerving blue eyes held him still, and he couldn’t look away from the face that belonged on an angel. She blinked and the moment ended.

  His heart raced like he’d run ten blocks uphill in pursuit. Must be the incense causing some kind of allergic reaction.

  “I work in homicide”—he forced her name out of his mouth—“Saba.”

  She flinched like he’d pinched her and sat up straight in her seat. Her face blanked. “I don’t know how I can help.”

  He could walk out now and tell his boss that it was another dead end and the taxpayer dollars would be spent elsewhere. He wanted nothing more than to get up and leave and never come back. But he wasn’t here for himself. He was here for the victim. He pulled a photo out of his pocket and placed it on the table. “Desiree Romain, eighteen. Found one week ago.”

  Saba touched the photo and traced the unsmiling face of the teenager. “When was she reported missing?”

  “She wasn’t.” He paused, not sure how much to tell Saba. This case hadn’t hit the media. Still, Saba had signed a contract with the department, so if there was a leak, he would know where it came from. “She went out one night and was found dead the next morning.”

  “I don’t see why you need me.” She pushed the photo back to him.

  “If we weren’t out of options, I wouldn’t be here.”

  Saba let out a breath and placed her hands flat on the table. “Let me rephrase, Detective.” The air of confidence that had surrounded her when they’d first sat down was back. “What do you think I will be able to do?”

  He had no idea what he expected from her. Could she hold the photo and tell him who the killer was and, more importantly, how he’d done it with no witnesses? “Can’t you talk to the dead?”

  “No.”

  “Well, thanks for your time.” He placed the photo back into his pocket. That was a waste of a morning he could have spent going over the case notes and evidence, searching for a missed clue. He stood and pulled back the velvet curtain.

  * * * *

  Saba should let Detective Morgan walk out and take his pent up hostility with him. Her workspace would need cleansing before her next client came in, but the red-lipped girl’s sad face stayed with her, begging for help. She may not be able to help Desiree, but she could find her killer and help bring him to justice. “Wait.”

  Detective Morgan turned. His face was impassive as he took up too much space with his bad attitude. His green eyes assessed her. Not the brilliant green that spoke of Mediterranean ancestry. This green was dirty, like they’d been stained by everything he saw. Now he wore them as camouflage. His whole appearance was weathered, but not beaten. He knew how to fight. Whatever had tempered him had sharpened him. This was not a man she wanted to cross.

  Yet she had the uneasy, grating sensation her existence was a prosecutable offense. Words tumbled out, offering an excuse for detaining him. “I can’t talk to the dead.” This job was not going to be a simple case of finding the killer. There was more to it Detective Moran wasn’t sharing. Silver protect me. She had to do something. “However, I might be able to see her last few hours.”

  In the bowl, the black ink deepened, bleeding to crimson, revealing what she already knew she would need.

  Blood magic.

  She fixed her gaze on Detective Morgan and tried to sound surer of what she was asking than she felt. “I’ll need to see her body.”

  He nodded once, short and sharp. “That can be arranged.”

  Her stomach tightened. It had been a long time since she’d used blood magic, but it was the only way she could help. All magic required sacrifice, blood and hair being the most common. The trouble with doing magic for someone else was they also had to put in some blood, and when the bloods mixed, a bond was created.

  What harm could come from having a bond with someone who was already dead?

  Chapter 2

  After Dale had waited in the late summer heat for Saba to arrive, the city morgue was pleasantly chilly. While the sun had caught in her pale hair like a halo, under the fluorescent lights, it took on a sickly yellow glow. It might have been his imagination, but he was getting the feeling she didn’t want to be here, even though she’d asked to see the body. She kept her hands near her sides and stayed close to him as if she were expecting a corpse to jump out from behind every door.

  “You got the stomach for this?”

  “I’m fine.” Her voice was crisper than it had been this morning in the shop.

  “You ever seen a dead body before?”

  “I usually help the living.”

  Dale choked on the snort of disbelief and disguised it with a cough.

  Saba raised one eyebrow. “You came to me. If you don’t like the answers you get, you can ignore them.”

  He was finding it hard to ignore anything she said. He’d almost not recognized her when she’d approached him outside the morgue, because her sunglasses had been hiding her eyes. With her sunglasses off, her eyes hypnotized him. He shook off her clear, unwavering stare and the way her eyes asked him to open up and trust her. Damned if he’d submit to the charms of a silver-tongued liar. Psychics were worse than hookers. At least with them you got what you paid for. But while prostitution was illegal, psychics got to keep trading regardless of the damage they caused.

  “Is that what you tell all your clients?” He opened the drawer that held Desiree’s body and pulled out the tray between them.

  Saba stepped back from the shrouded body. “The future is always in flux. Every decision alters it a little. I can see where people are heading. Most people will never make a change big enough to affect the outcome.” She said it like a challenge. Chin up, eyes bright, the silver in them gleaming. “The past, however, is unchangeable. I can see what happened. Whether that helps your case is up to you, Detective Morgan.”

  What could Saba give him where forensics and old-fashioned, honest police work had failed? Desiree had been killed in a cheap motel. No one had seen or heard anything. The scene had been clean. Too clean. Not a smudge of a fingerprint or even a hair. Gwinfor knew what he was doing.

  While Desiree�
��s last hope was the local fortuneteller, Gwinfor was living and working in the community like nothing had happened. The police couldn’t touch him. Couldn’t link him to the scene. Couldn’t do anything other than watch and wait for him to kill again, while praying he would leave a clue behind. The way Desiree was killed, it was only a matter of time before Gwinfor made another attempt. He was a serial in the making, or Dale would eat his badge.

  If Saba could see the victims last few hours, maybe there would be a new trail to pursue or another angle to consider. It was enough for Dale to take the chance.

  He flicked back the sheet, careful to only reveal the teenager’s face. For a dead person, Desiree looked pretty good. Her face was perfect and she didn’t smell. The only trauma was from rough sex and the knife wounds on her wrists.

  “So, how do you do this?”

  Saba’s skin became paler, if that were possible.

  “You going to faint?” There was no way he would make it round the tray to catch Saba before she hit the floor.

  She swallowed hard and shook her head. “The absence of life… It’s like a void. I can feel the nothing, like I’m going to fall in.” She raised her gaze from the corpse. “Are you going to tell me anything more or is this a test?”

  Dale looked down at the body before Saba could suck him in with her dangerous eyes. “Just because you got lucky finding those kids for Quinn doesn’t qualify you to know anything about an active murder investigation.”

  “Fine. I’ll need her blood.” She pulled a small silver bowl out of her bag. Unlike the one in her office, this one was smooth inside and out. She handed it to him.

  The bowl fit into the palm of his hand. The metal burned his skin like ice and chilled his blood. He pressed his lips together. Saba wasn’t the only one who had wanted Desiree’s blood.