by Mina Carter
Frankie glared at him. What was wrong with him? “Your humor isn’t amusing.”
“I’m sorry, you’re right. I’m not trying to be callous, but you have to understand the whole thing smacks of the unbelievable, and we’re not used to that kind of crime here.”
“Any witnesses?”
Martin shook his head. “Not really. We did question his best friend, Max, who was the unfortunate bastard to turn the chipper on. He was also the last person to see Jerrell alive.”
“And?” Frankie asked, impatiently.
“Nothing. It’s all in the report. He worked with him all day. They barbequed that night and drank some beer. Then Max walked home, came back to work the next day and… well, you know.” He turned to Fang who’d been fairly silent this whole time. “Do you let her do all the talking?”
“She’s doing a great job so far,” Fang pulled his nose out the file to answer the Sheriff. Then he cast a wicked grin her direction. “Why mess with perfection?”
“Do you have an issue with women in authority roles, Sheriff?”
“Not in the least.” Martin cleared his throat to cover the guilty look that crossed his face.
“We’re going to review the case file and talk to some of the witnesses. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” He handed Frankie his card. “Call me if you have any more questions.” He picked up his cowboy hat and placed it on his head. “If you two will excuse me, I have an appointment to get to.”
“Tell me, Sheriff, are you afraid we’re going to poke holes in your investigation or are you just an arrogant ass normally?” Frankie asked, her face stoic.
“Listen, little lady. I’ve been investigating crimes since before you could hold a bottle. It’s unlikely you’ll find anything wrong with my investigational logic.” He lowered his head. “In fact, more power to you. If something happened to that young man, I want to see justice for him.”
“Challenge accepted.” She raised an eyebrow.
He chuckled and cracked a real smile. “Good luck. And like I said, if you need me, call me.”
Frankie looked like she was going to speak again. This time Fang stepped in. “Thank you, Sheriff. We’ll be in touch if we need more information.”
The sheriff nodded his head and left.
“Why did you do that?” Frankie spun around unable to hide the pissed off look she shot him. “I think I was finally starting to break down his prejudice.”
“Because the man is obviously not inclined to help us. He gave us what we need and we can talk to the deputy for anything pertinent. If he doesn’t have anything, we can follow up with a call to the sheriff. The guy was making me want to punch him, and that would do no good for future relations if needed.”
“I’m proud of you, Fang. You’re learning how to be social.” Frankie meant it, but her tone came out sarcastic, more because she was still hot from his dismissal of the rude sheriff Martin. Fang was raised in the wild by his bear family, and was still learning how to act appropriately in social settings. The guy was a bit of a Neanderthal, but he was growing on her.
“How about you try being a little nicer?”
“Sorry, I’m just frustrated. It’s hard to believe a shifter would simply fall asleep in a chipper and not wake up in time to save his own life.” She looked at him. “How drunk would we have to be to be knocked out cold like that?”
“Very. The high metabolism that shifters possess makes it difficult to get and stay drunk, not impossible mind you, but hard. Although if he was previously injured with silver he might be unable to heal, but that’s a big ‘if’. We should have forensics look at the autopsy to see if it’s even a plausible story.”
A wave of sadness flooded over Frankie. Her sister, Sarah, was one of the Paranormal Bureau’s forensic scientists-in-training before she was captured and tortured by the Amazons. She would’ve been the first person she spoke to about this situation, but it had been months since she last saw or heard from Sarah.
Frankie sighed. “I sure hope DeLuca and Tucker are having better luck.”
Chapter Ten
Tucker sat comfortably in the conference room the San Diego Police Department set up for them after they arrived, and requested details of Libby’s death. Persephone smiled warmly when the officer brought in sandwiches for them to snack on for lunch.
“Thank you,” she told the overzealous, recent, academy grad.
He nodded his head and bounced nervously from one foot to the other as though he wanted to ask a question. DeLuca examined the young man. He had to be in his early twenties, full of spit, vinegar, and ambition. He ran a hand over his sandy-brown crew cut and said, “Do you mind if I ask you all a few questions?”
“Sure, what’s on your mind?” Tucker was the good-natured one of the team, and he found it a lot easier to chat with folks than watch his impatient partner snap when she got asked the wrong questions.
“I was wondering, well, it’s always been a goal of mine to work for the CIA or FBI, but I was always told it was highly improbable for someone like me.”
“If you’re qualified, and you’re able to pass the gamut of tests, then I don’t see why you can’t get there.” Tucker offered an easy grin. “But I’d decide which one you’re going for first. They are two very different agencies.”
The boy nodded. “Thank you. I plan to work real hard, study, and learn whatever I need to in order to make it happen.”
“Hard work and dedication are two very strong characteristics.” Tucker unwrapped his sub sandwich.
Persephone had already started working on her own lunch. She flashed a knowing grin to her partner and relaxed back in her chair letting Tucker work his magic. She had little patience for people outside her social circle, and rarely allowed others in. It wasn’t because she was snotty or a bitch, it was because her self-protection mechanisms kept her from trusting others.
Visions of being bullied at school and home popped into her head. There were so many incidences, it was hard to focus on just one. She pushed them all back into the secure box she created in her mind to house them. She only opened that box when she needed help destroying someone, which wasn’t the case at the moment.
“Is there anything else I can do to help you?” George, the young officer, asked.
“No, not at the moment. You have us set up nicely here, but we’ll let you know if we can use your help.” Tucker dismissed him politely.
“Good, okay.” He left.
“While you were being nice to the locals, I was doing what we came here for.” DeLuca said sarcastically, but her smile was warm and thankful.
“And?”
“Well, the autopsy is straight forward. They believe she fell asleep and drowned in her bathtub.”
“That’s not necessarily helpful.”
DeLuca held up her index finger to stop him from talking. “Ah, but the peculiar thing is that she was a water witch.”
“A water witch?”
“Yes. I called the local coven and got her details. She’s registered as a water witch which means it would be almost impossible to drown her.”
“Improbable, but not impossible.”
“She was a level five witch.”
“Wow. It’s hard to believe a top tier witch with her training wouldn’t be able to manipulate the element to insure she wasn’t killed by it.”
“Correct. Which leads me to think she was murdered.”
Tucker leaned back in his chair as a smile slid across his face. “Nice job, DeLuca.”
“So this accidental death file needs to be reopened.”
“Yes, but once again, the human faction wouldn’t know she can harness the element of water, and so would have never drowned by herself.”
“And according to the autopsy, there is no sign of defensive wounds so it wouldn’t look suspicious,” DeLuca concluded. “I can have someone in forensics look at it just to verify what I’m determining from the report.”
“Probably a good idea to
have a second set of eyes. After lunch, we’ll start the investigation.” Tucker unwrapped his sandwich.
DeLuca tossed the sub wrapper into the trash, scoring three points for the basket. “Okay, while you eat, I’ll call Devon and Dr. Smith.”
Chapter Eleven
Devon opened the door to Karma’s office after she invited him in. “You got a minute to get an update on our case?”
Karma, who was wearing her mild- manner mask, smiled and nodded eagerly. There were two sides to the demi-goddess; the bitch and the giver, and today she was obviously in a giving mood. Her long, blonde hair fell around her shoulders in soft waves, and was adorned by random braid strands held secure by sunflower barrettes. Her classically-beautiful, heart-shaped face wore very little makeup - a little lip gloss and maybe a light amount of mascara. That combined with the bell-bottom jeans and colorful, sunflower-decorated, cotton shirt reminded him of the girls from the sixties. It was a good time to be alive. He should know, he lived through it.
She flashed him a brilliant smile which reached her dual-colored eyes, one green and one blue. “Sure, tell me you have good news.”
Devon shook his head and sat in the comfortable chair across her desk. “Sorry. So far, both deaths look suspicious, and the agents want to reopen the cases.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“Both teams are having Dr. Smith and his team look into the forensics, but after what happened last night--.”
“What happened last night?” Concern swam in her dual colored eyes.
“Last night, Red attacked Olivia while she was sleepwalking.” Devon answered. He watched carefully as Karma’s make up darkened, her lips turned blood-red, and her eyes took on a smoky outline. She was morphing into the bad side of Karma right before his eyes. “Are you okay, Boss?” He asked with warning coating his voice.
“No. She attacked her friend while sleepwalking? Are you thinking the Dream Weavers are involved in this mess?”
“It would seem like a logical conclusion.” He agreed.
“But if we’ve learned anything, logical is not always the answer in paranormal investigations.” She put her pen down and sighed. “I suppose I can visit Morpheus and see if his weavers had anything to do with this.”
“If they did, perhaps we’re meddling in affairs we should stay out of.” Devon nodded.
“Agreed.” She stood up, and her clothes changed into her skin-tight, black leather pant suit. Her hair twisted instantaneously into a French braid that fell down to the middle of her back.
Devon took that as his cue to leave. No one, living or undead, enjoys being around Karma when she’s in bitch mode, but she rarely ever traveled to the god realm in her nice persona. He imagined that was because the gods weren’t the nicest beings to deal with.
Karma watched as Devon slipped out of the room silently. She clicked a code on her remote and a floor to ceiling mirror slid down the wall. When she placed her hand on the reflective surface, it lit up in a sky blue color and the doorway opened. She set the coordinates to the dream realm in her mind and stepped through the now permeable surface.
The room on the other side of the looking glass was darkened and only had lit wall sconces throughout for lighting. There were multiple sleeping chambers embedded into the wall, and she could see outlines of bodies at rest within the shadows. A large, blue, egg-shaped orb hung from the ceiling and glowed eerily. It was like there was liquid inside and it followed her movements. The dream enhancer, as her cousin, Morpheus, called it, had always creeped her out, and today was no different.
Thick strings extended from the sphere and connected to twenty different tiny panels in a circle. All were manned by dream weavers or weavers-in-training. She gave a friendly smile and nod to those that caught her eye, and headed toward the exit of one of the many dreamscape rooms.
Her understanding was there were two weavers, or one weaver and a trainee, that entered a person’s dreams simultaneously. They used the blue globe and the stations to do so. Somehow the spherical ball connected the stasis pod sleeper with the conscious person manning the station. It was extremely complicated and involved alien science mixed with alchemy and genetics. The true gods understood it because they came from the home planet and had settled here on earth as well as other planets throughout the vastness of space, but Karma being a demi-goddess, born of Earth, not planet Olympus, half human and half goddess, was too far removed from it to comprehend the details. Her eyes always glazed over when she asked for an explanation from Morpheus when they were younger.
All she knew was it worked. Weavers were able to enter dreams and interact with different beings. They could give a gift to that being or go so far as to kill them in their sleep. Total Nightmare on Elm Street material. Many of the great humans on Earth were gifted knowledge to help them advance via dreams, and it was usually the weavers that helped that process along, but there were also more sinister duties the weavers carried out. Balance had to be maintained despite the costs. She understood that all too well.
She made her way down the dimly lit hallway. She’d visited Morpheus’ home many times as a child and knew him well. It was why she worried he might have something to do with these cases. Dread snaked up her spine as she neared his chambers. If the weavers were involved, and these were sanctioned hits, that meant the gods were ordering the deaths of their children. Most supernatural creatures were born or created by gods. The later generations were still genetically connected to the gods in a minor way. The idea they’d be ordering mass killings of their children’s offspring seemed preposterous. Worse, the fact that they were not even of the same species meant, if their suspicions were right, multiple gods were involved in the murders.
It seemed wrong on so many levels, but she had to go where the investigation took her and her team, and that was here, preparing to interrogate a true god who she called cousin and friend. When she entered Morpheus’ chambers she was surprised to see Hypnos, the god of sleep, and his mother, Nyx, goddess of night. It was a family reunion of the house of night, and she briefly wondered why she, and others, hadn’t been invited. Something seemed off about the whole thing.
Nyx was a beautiful woman with dark skin the color of midnight. She blended in with the darkness, and the low lighting made her almost invisible to those not aware of her presence. Her black ringlet curls were up in the typical fashion of true goddesses. But unlike most goddesses, she did not wear a white or gold toga. She wore one of black which only helped her to blend into the shadows further.
Hypnos reminded her of blond surfer who was always looking for trouble. He enjoyed his power over sleep and mind control, and took advantage of it often. For mother and son, their looks were night and day, literally. He was sunshine where she was dark - two sides of the coin, and often thick as thieves. Morpheus was Karma’s cousin.
She didn’t envy that Morpheus had Hypnos as a father. He had coloring from both his father and grandmother. Dark olive skin and black hair with crystal blue eyes like Hypnos. All gods aged differently so despite being in the room with three different generations of her family tree, they all looked to be in their early thirties.
“Grandmother, Uncle, Cousin, sorry to disturb you.” Karma stood at the door waiting for an invitation to enter.
They all turned their attention to her, and after a moment’s hesitation, smiled. Nyx came to embrace Karma first. The boys held back.
“Darling granddaughter, it has been too long.” Her scent was like dewy rain, comforting. Karma inhaled it as she hugged her back. “Are you still with that human and paranormal agency?”
“The Paranormal Bureau of Investigation? Yes. I run my division.” Karma answered her politely even though she knew Night knew. Nyx knew everything that happened in the evening hours. She was massively powerful and formidable when necessary.
“Such messy business.” Nyx moved back and allowed Hypnos and Morpheus to hug her next. “I truly don’t understand why you get involved.”
“Wh
at brings you here, cousin?” Morpheus asked as he pulled the long, gold rope hanging from the ceiling summoning the help.
“Messy business.” Karma told him with a smile and a glance toward Nyx.
Jarvis entered the room looking as young as the rest of them. Time worked differently in the dream realm.
“Jarvis, will you get Karma something to drink?”
“I’m fine, Jarvis.” Karma turned to Morpheus. “Can we talk for a moment… alone?”
“My work is the family’s business, cousin. Whatever you have to say, you can say to all of us.” Morpheus smiled. He really had no clue about her visit, she was sure of it.
“Okay. I need to know if dream weavers have been sent to kill supernatural beings in the Earth realm.”
The room went silent. It was one of those moments you could hear a pin drop. Suddenly, Morpheus laughed. “You always had a sense of humor.”
Karma didn’t crack a smile. Instead, her gaze turned darker, her face sterner. “I’d appreciate it if you’d answer my question.”
“First, you didn’t really ask a question, niece. You made a statement,” Hypnos pointed out. Gods could be very literal, especially Hypnos who knew there was extreme power in words and tone.
Karma glared at her uncle, careful to mind herself. He was still far more powerful than she was. “Did the gods send dream assassins to kill supernaturals in the human realm?”
Morpheus shook his head. “No, cousin. Zeus made sure we stayed away from both of those races. He cut us off from our own creations just as he took away our ability to interact with the humans. You know this. I’m not about to mess with his commands.”
“None of us are that foolhardy, my darling.” Nyx added.
Chapter Twelve
Davis paced his tiny dorm room. He’d had it. He was done and didn’t care what his father thought. In fact, it was time he took care of that threat. He laid down in his twin-size bed, closed his eyes, and focused on his father. Finding his signature was easy because they were linked genetically. It was almost like performing a video call only instead of using the computer screen as a mode of communication he used his astral body.