A whoosh of fetid air caressed my cheek. Whassamatta, gotta hot date?
I glared in the direction of the energy. “As a matter of fact, I do. So, why don’t you be cooperative and let me return you to the next plane?
I said NO.
I was getting really agitated now. “Listen, daemon. Do you have a name?”
Refeld.
“Okay, Refeld, this is getting a little old now. If you don’t start cooperating now I’m going to have to use force.”
Go ahead. Die trying.
Those were definitely fighting words. I reached out with my energy again, and this time the returning blast picked me off my feet, then sent me sailing across the room, landing on the opposite side with a resounding thwack! My head lolled on my neck, and I felt the room swim as another blast of the Ignatz daemon’s energy came at me again, washing over me, causing white-hot heat to explode in my brain and little pinpricks of light to dance before my eyes.
Had enough yet?
I picked myself up slowly. “Too bad for you, I’ve a thick skull. Now be a good little boy, and return to the Netherrealm from whence…”
Another searing blast of energy sent me spinning round and round like a top.
You don’t understand, do you? I’m not returning anywhere. This is my ancestral home, and I mean to reclaim it!
Once the room stopped going round and round, I bit my lip. This could go on for hours. The daemon was particularly strong, plus he was on his own turf. This wasn’t a case of sending him back through a portal, oh, no. This guy meant what he said alright. He was out to regain his territory no matter what the cost.
He’d have to be destroyed.
Too late, I realized his energy could seep into my thoughts. I felt the basement shake as the daemon rocked with laughter.
Foolish Wiccan bitch. There’s a method you can use to defeat me, but you can’t use it, can you?
The breath, hot against my ear, trickled down my spine.
I know who you are. I know you won’t use your skills against me. You can’t.
I fumbled in the little pouch I carried on my belt, and drew forth a silver ason.
Was that your father’s?
I lifted it high above my head, and it startled me to see my hand shaking as I said, “This is mine, Refeld. Now will you enter the next plane or not?”
NO.
“You leave me no choice, then.” I moved the ason in a circle. “Ehabi, minawara..”
The voice crashed through my brain, a seductive purr.
Such an amateur chant won’t work on a daemon of my power, foolish one. You need the one you used last time, but you won’t use that. You remember what happened when you did.
Images cascaded through my mind’s eye. The laboratory. April and I, gangbusting through into the secret bagi. And the man, high on a platform, wild-eyed, laughing maniacally at us.
Gris-gris? Go ahead, Morgan, give it your best shot. I warn you, you’ll be sorry.
I backed up against the wall, my throat tight, my eyes burning as I relived that day over again. April and I, smack in the middle of a group of creatures that moved with dead, unseeing eyes…my hand coming up, clutching the small leather bag, the voudou chant upon my lips, and then…
“He turned it against me,” I whispered. “He used his own charm to turn my magic from him and onto…onto her.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and saw April again, her eyes unfocused, her arms stretched wide, coming straight for me…straight for me…
He defeated you, just as I shall do now. Do you still have the gris-gris? Ah, it doesn’t matter. Prepare to die, Wiccan bitch.
I tried to open my eyes, but I found I couldn’t—it was as if two great weights rested on them. I was lifted off the ground, suddenly, and as I tried to raise my arm I found it would not obey the feeble command from my brain. I summoned what little energy I had left and forced one eye open.
The black blob of energy that held me powerless had a cone-shaped head with horns, and great, green-tinged lips with massive yellowed teeth. The red eyes that pinned my stare radiated all the fires of Hell. This was one badass, ugly-looking daemon. I felt a modicum of shame wash over me, to be defeated by such a creature.
Too bad. If you could have mastered the gris-gris….ah, well. You’ll never know.
He began to whirl me madly around the room, so fast I thought I might throw up. I saw, once again, April staggering toward me, unseeing, unfeeling, knocking over the jar of kerosene…the flames, springing up from nowhere…the madman’s laugh, ringing in my ears, as I watched my partner’s body start to be engulfed in flame…
“Crap,” I cried. “Kill me. You’re right. I deserve to die. I don’t deserve to live.”
Ah, the throes of self-pity. How just for one so self-serving. It shall be my pleasure to deliver you to your Maker, Wiccan—eh? What’s that?
The dark energy released me, just like that, and I fell to the ground with a sharp thud! My head felt large, ten times its normal size, like someone was shaking a maracas inside. I reached out with my energy, tentatively.
Nothing. I couldn’t sense anything. What the hell had happened?
A hand on my shoulder. “Morgan Hawkes, are you alright?”
With a great effort, I opened my eyes to see two bright green eyes and a headful of white hair.
“Zandor,” I muttered. “What in hell are you doing here?”
“I have a cousin who lives nearby. She heard what was going on and called me.” His fingers dug into my arm as he helped me stand. “I thought perhaps you could use some assistance.” His smile was wide. “Iglatz daemons, as you know, are susceptible to the incantations of trolls, if they are taken unaware. Whatever you were focusing on held his attention long enough for me to slip behind him and utter a chant.” He made a sweeping motion with his hand. “I am humbled it worked.”
I resisted the sudden urge I had to pat him on top of his white fluffy head. “I am immensely grateful to you,” I said. “I…I owe you my life, Zandor.”
The troll’s cheeks reddened. “Oh, I doubt that. You would have defeated him, had he not gotten you so preoccupied.” His eyes narrowed as he surveyed me. “It must have been quite a painful memory for you. There…there are tears in your eyes.”
I swiped at my eyes with the back of my hand. “It—it’s allright, now. He got to me. I shouldn’t have let him. My guard was down.”
Zandor handed me the ason, which had fallen to the floor in the scuffle. I tucked it back inside my belt. “It’s no crime to admit you need help, occasionally,” he said. “I still owe you, Morgan Hawkes. I repeat, you have only to ask the favor.”
I let my lips curve upward. “I think this makes us even, Zandor. As a matter of fact, I think it tips the scales in your favor.”
He shook his head. “No, no, my gratefulness to you knows no boundaries, Morgan. If I can ever help you, truly, do not hesitate to call. Promise me you will.”
This time I did reach out and pat his arm. “Okay, Zandor. If it means that much to you, I promise.” My eye fell on my watch and I sighed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get a move on. As the White Rabbit would say, I’m late for a very important date.”
.
Chapter 4
Gilley looked me up as I walked in. “Morgan.” His eyes flicked first over me, then to his watch.
I slid into the chair directly in front of his desk. “I’m a little late. I’m sorry, sir. I had a slight altercation on Hammond, and I had to rush home and ch—“
He held up his hand. “No need to apologize.” He looked me up and down again. “You look nice. Very professional. Very capable.”
I flushed. I wasn’t used to such praise and especially not from Gilley. “Thank you, sir.”
He adjusted his reading glasses, tapped the fat file in front of him. “We can get started now. I’d like you to be filled in on the salient points of this case.”
“Yes, sir, I’d like that.” As Gilley remained silen
t, I added, “You can start at any time, sir.”
“I believe I will, thank you, Ms. Hawkes.”
The man who melted out of the shadows at the far corner of Gilley’s office was not just handsome—he was ridiculously so. I took a moment to study the angular, aesthetic face with its slash of cheekbones and full, sculpted lips. Blue-black hair, thick and full, swept back from a high forehead to fall just below the collar of the simple white shirt he wore. The eyes, however, were what commanded my attention. They were black as onyx stones, and shone with an intensity, a power, I’d run across once or twice in my lifetime.
He approached, held out his hand. I took it. His grip was sure and strong, and in a very unexpected gesture, lifted my palm to his lips and kissed it. I started slightly. I’d expected an icy-cold touch, not this warm, tingly one. Odd. The man had vampire written all over him.
He released my hand and took a step back, made a low bow. “Cole St. John, Senior Special Forces Agent, Ms. Hawkes. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Gilley smiled. “Cole is one of the top agents, Morgan. He comes from a long line of Inheritor Special Agents.”
Ah, an Inheritor vampire. Well, now I understood the warm touch. Inheritors were more human than most humans—except for a few small quirks, like an occasional thirst for blood or being able to live for centuries.
“Cole’s great-grandfather was one of the founders of the Special Service Forces,” Gilley continued. “Many would consider it an honor to work with him.”
“Really?” I let my gaze rove over the muscular body. “Too bad I’m not many.”
His eyes flashed, a spark of red beneath the black. I caught a glimpse of sharp, overlong incisors before the lips clamped together into a straight line.
So he’s short-tempered too. Good to know.
“They warned me of your ability for negative sarcasm,” he said in an even tone. “A pity your ability couldn’t keep them from bouncing you off Homicide, now, isn’t it?”
I drew a breath. “Some qualities can be vastly underappreciated. And just to keep the record straight, I wasn’t ‘bounced off’. I resigned.”
“I stand corrected. My apologies.” He made a mock bow. “We‘ll discuss your various areas of expertise some other time.” He tapped at the large gold watch on his right wrist. If it wasn’t a Rolex, I’d eat his shirt. “We should get down to the business at hand.”
I drew a deep breath. Easy, now. Don’t blow this. “Yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry.”
“So,” he eased himself into the chair next to me. “How much do you know about this case?”
“Just what I’ve read in the papers,” I responded. “Three women, all found dead within a ten-mile radius of each other within the last three weeks. Captain Gilley told me they were all witches.”
Cole shot Gilley a puzzled glance. “You didn’t fill her in on the rest?”
Gilley shook his head. “The Commissioner said it would probably be best if you did so, Cole.”
Cole smiled. “Conrad always did like to defer nasty details to me.”
I frowned. He was on a first name basis with the Commissioner, as well. Considering the family connection, it came as no big surprise. “Nasty details?” I asked.
Cole faced me. Those black eyes seemed to bore into me, through me, almost as if he could see into my very soul. I tried to suppress a shudder, failed.
He quirked one eyebrow. “You needn’t be nervous, Ms. Hawkes. I’ve no intention of dazzling you with my glamour.”
I leaned back in the chair, balled one hand into a fist. “What a relief. You mistake nervousness for impatience, Agent St. John. Captain Gilley said certain talents of mine might prove useful on this case. I’m curious—what talents are those? My abilities to commune with the departed, to see onto the next plane? You wish for me to see if I can contact the spirits of the dead women, find out who killed them?” I shook my head. “Unless their souls are trapped between planes, I’m afraid I can’t help you. I do have some psychic abilities, but I’m not a medium, you see, and—“
“Yes, I’m aware you’re a ghost whisperer.” Cole slid Gilley an eyeroll. “Does she always jump to conclusions so, Gilley? That could be a detriment.”
Gilley tapped his pencil against his palm. “No, she’s usually quite level-headed. Good in emergency situations.”
Cole glanced at me, then back at Gilley. “Except for once,” he said softly.
“Hey, hey,” I leaned forward, banged my fist on the side of Gilley’s desk. “I’m sitting right here, you know. You don’t have to talk about me as if I’m not in the room.”
Cole’s lips quirked into a half-smile. It gave him a devilishly wicked appearance, almost…sexy. As soon as the thought entered my brain, I wanted to slap myself silly.
Holy Hell. Where did that come from, girl?
There could be no mistaking the amused glint in his eye. I shifted again on the chair. Inheritors, among other things, had incredible mind-melding powers. One had to keep their thoughts constantly on guard when around them. I cast him a quick glance. Had he read my mind?
He rose, leaned over my chair. “What do you think?” he whispered in my ear. He straightened and stood just off to my left, arms folded across his muscular chest. I turned slightly and looked up at him.
“I think you’re invading my privacy. I’d hope if we work together, you’d respect it.”
He chuckled. “Respect is something which must be earned, Ms. Hawkes. Did no one ever tell you so?”
“Of course. It works both ways, did no one ever tell you?” I shot back.
He crossed the room to the water cooler, filled a cup, took a sip. “Point well taken. You wish to know the details of the case? Very well. Let’s get to it.
“We found the first victim, Rose Dupree, in her flat about a mile away from Central City University campus and the second, Charlene McCall, in City Park, which is about a mile south of the University. Our last young lady, Sunny Addams, reposed facedown in Halo Park, which adjoins—“
“The University,” I finished. “I can see a pattern here. Were the girls students?”
“Yes, but not full time. They were all in the University’s Entrée program.”
I frowned. “Entrée program? I’m not familiar with it.”
“It’s a program where you can take courses that appeal, without going for an actual degree. The credits you accumulate, however, are stored and will count if one does decide to complete their further education within a ten-year timeframe.”
“I see.”
Cole trained his gaze on me again. “You went to the University for two semesters, I believe.”
“Yes.”
One perfectly shaped eyebrow rose. “I hope it’s not infringing on your privacy if I ask why you never finished? Did you lose interest in higher education?”
“Not at all. As I’m sure you’re aware, I dropped out to attend the PSI Academy. I completed all the special training courses necessary for my badge there.”
“A remarkable student,” Gilley nodded. “Straight A’s all three semesters.”
I faced Cole squarely. “Just so you know, I have the utmost respect for higher education. I’ve considered going back to school and getting a degree.”
“Really. What’s stopped you?”
I shook my head. “Life, for one thing.”
“Ah—understandable.” He glided over to my chair, put his hands on both arms, leaned over me. “I’ve no doubt you’d make a remarkable student. You might even graduate cum laude, if you really applied yourself.”
I twisted away from him. “Why all this interest in higher education, if I may ask?”
Cole leaned forward. “How would you feel about going back to school?”
I looked at him, then slid my gaze to Gilley. “Is that the undercover portion of the assignment?” At Gilley’s brief nod, I turned back to Cole. “You think someone at the University is involved?”
Those startlingly black eyes narrowed to almost
slits. “Gilley told you the women were all witches,” he continued, ignoring my question. “Rose and Sunny were Hedge Witches; Charlaine belonged to the Stratton Coven, long known as Disciples of Lucifer.”
“Interesting,” I commented. “A mix of Wiccan and Satanic witches.”
“Yes. And that’s not all.” As Cole’s head dipped closer to me, I caught a whiff of musk. The scent was stirring. Intoxicating, actually.
Whoa, girl. Chill the hormones and focus.
“The press, naturally, has been all over these killings. We managed to keep the fact the women were witches from them, along with some other information.”
I chuckled. “That couldn’t have been easy. I’m acquainted with some of the reporters on the Central City Sun. You want to talk about bloodsuckers? They’ve got you vamps beat by a mile.”
He smiled at my thin attempt at a joke. “We did not reveal the fact each girl had a different body part missing.”
My head jerked up. “What?”
“Rose’s left hand was severed at the wrist. Sunny’s left ear was gone, and Charlaine was missing her…nose.”
I frowned. “Odd. So, what do you make of it?”
Cole lifted those broad shoulders in a shrug. “Symbolism, perhaps.”
I tapped the arm of my chair with one nail. “Serial killers often garner trophies from their victims,” I said thoughtfully. “This could be the work of one.”
Cole rubbed his chin with his forefinger. “Perhaps. Or it could be…something else. Something far more sinister.”
The hairs at the back of my neck pricked. I reached my hand back to rub at the area. “What’s more sinister than a whacko serial killer?”
He pinned me with his black stare. “Some voodoo bokors cast spells which involve using body parts from victims. It’s my understanding you have more than a passing familiarity with such things, don’t you, Ms. Hawkes?”
A thin sheen of sweat spread over my palms. I rubbed them self-consciously on my skirt. “Go to Hell,” I growled.
“Now, now, don’t be modest,” Cole clucked his tongue. “You had to realize I would know about your rather, ah, checkered past, shall we say? Your personal connection to voodoo.”
No Rest for the Wicca Page 4