He chuckled. “Yes, I’d say the two of us were pretty heavily involved.”
I swatted at his shoulder with one hand. “You know what I mean. I got a little—upset last night. I acted vulnerable. We—I got caught up in the moment. I could have stopped you—“
He held up his hand. “Morgan, trust me, you couldn’t have stopped me, once we began. As much as you’d like to blame yourself, my dear, both of us were fully cognizant and responsible for our actions. Actions I do not regret for one instant.” He stopped, took my face in his hands. “Do you?”
“Honestly?” I took a deep breath, ran my hands up his arms, rested them on his broad shoulders. “No. Heaven help me, no I don’t.”
“Darling,” he whispered as he pressed me back against the soft pillows. “I rather hoped you’d say that.”
I stood in Cole’s bathtub that was more the size of a small pond and let my body be pummeled by the hot pulse of the shower spray. Why not, I asked myself. It’s only appropriate. Last night Cole pummeled me, my senses. Invaded a part of me I thought no man could ever get near. Yet, I felt no regret, none at all.
Dammit. I want to regret it. It was a mistake, a huge one. I have to put it behind me, have to move on.
But Corpus Christi, I didn’t want to. How could anyone regret someone who made them feel so alive. It was funny, really. One of the undead made me feel more alive than I had in months. I closed my eyes and immediately my senses were assaulted by a vision of a man, splendid in his nakedness, dark hair streaming across his shoulders, eyes blacker than night, his exquisitely sculpted hands roaming every inch of my body…
I jumped as hard lips clamped down on mine and I opened my eyes to see the man himself, body glistening wet, right next to me.
“Cole,” I gasped. “What are you doing in my shower?”
“To be technical,” he grinned, “it’s my shower. I missed you.”
He bent his head and his teeth grazed my lip, as his hands roamed over my full breasts. He tugged lightly at my soap-slicked nipples. “And I do believe you missed me too.”
Why did my body have to be so damn treacherous? “Don’t flatter yourself,” I murmured. I put both hands on his chest and pushed away from him. “It was all a mistake, a damn mistake. I have to go.”
“No.” He reached out, cupped my hips, lifted me back to him. “No, you don’t.”
“See. This is what I mean. Today’s the day, Cole. Today’s the day another witch is supposed to be killed, and what are we doing?”
“Psyching ourselves up? Getting mentally fit?”
I snorted. “Is that what you call it?”
He shifted and in one fluid movement had me against the shower wall. “I’ll tell you what I don’t call it. I don’t call it a mistake.”
“You don’t?” I felt temper rise. “How about we call it your taking advantage of me at a weak moment. Because when you think about it, that is what happened, isn’t it, Cole?”
There came the flash of red again, simmering just below the black. I knew I should shut my mouth, but I just couldn’t’ seem to help myself.
“I guess I seemed an easy conquest for you, eh? The dashing Cole St. John. Do you bed all your partners? Or was a virgin too much of a challenge to resist?”
Now the center of his eyes was red, a hot, molten color. His lips peeled back from his gums, and I caught a glimpse of overlong, over sharp incisors. Ah, so the vamp in him came out when he got really angry—or turned on. And God help me, he still looked hot, even in this state…maybe even hotter yet.
“First off,” he rasped, “I haven’t had a partner in years. Secondly, if I were merely using you, even though you were a virgin, I wouldn’t have been as tender or considerate as I was.”
“Ah, so you would have used your glamour on me, wouldn’t you?”
He turned away, rested both hands on the shower wall, took a deep shuddering breath. When he turned back, his eyes were no longer red, his teeth no longer menacing. He raked one hand through his wet mass of hair.
“Inheritors don’t get the thirst often, but it’s not pretty when we do,” he said quietly. “One thing you should remember, Morgan. We walk among humans, live as humans, but we are not human. Our true nature is to be predator, killer. Some more than most.”
I felt a shudder rip through me. He sounded so cold, so calculating. “So, why are you telling me this? You’re not planning to do me in, are you?”
“I like to think because I have human blood, I’m better than most, but when you get right down to it, you can’t fight your heritage. You would do well to remember that.”
I stared at him. “I’m not a vampire.”
“No—you’re Half-Wiccan, as you constantly remind everyone. What about your other half?”
I looked away. “I try not to think about it.”
He cupped my chin, tilted my head to his. “I could never turn my back on my Inheritor heritage any more than you can on your Wiccan or voodoo roots. I know when you strike out at me, you’re really doing so at yourself.”
“Damn mind-meld again,” I grumbled, and he actually laughed.
“I don’t need to delve into your thoughts to know you fight against your heritage every day—dammit, I think it’s something we have in common.”
My eyes widened. “You fight being an Inheritor?”
His lips took an upward curve. “Of course, every damn day of my life. It’s one reason I went into Special Forces.”
“So you think by fighting the bad guys, you won’t become one of them.”
“I don’t believe I am one of them. But make no mistake, I could be. Violence is an inherent part of me, it’s in me and something I can’t change. But I can better it.” His finger traced the outline of my lips. “Your father’s blood runs through you, but you fight it, too. You strive to be better. And, when you get right down to it, isn’t that all any of us can ask?”
“I suppose,” I murmured. “You know, I want to hate you, Cole, I really do, but there’s just something about you that makes it impossible.”
“Yeah? What?”
I dove for his mouth. “Your hot body,” I murmured, and let my lips close over his.
We showered and soaped, and he took me in the stall, had me quivering, mewling, crying out for release. I licked soap off every inch of him, felt an immense sense of pleasure when I made him shudder and call out my name. We dried each other off and found our way back to his bed, where we lay, tangled in each other’s arms.
“You’re right,” I said, as I ran my fingers along his sinewy muscles. “I do fight against what I am, every day of my life. I am the very thing I accused you of being—cocky, too sure. Those qualities of mine are what killed an innocent.”
“Once again, your partner’s death wasn’t you—“ he began, but I put my finger against his lips.
“I know. April had free will. She didn’t have to go along with my plan. But she trusted me, and she did, and now…I owe it to her memory, Cole, and to those dead witches whose spirits are trapped between planes. I owe it to them to find out who’s behind all this.”
The voices started all in a rush, threading through my stream of consciousness:
Seven.
The power of Seven
Seven points of release, and she will be free.
You have to help us.
You have to stop it.
The book…they cannot get the book.
Ago angajan asogwe. Lughnasadh
“Morgan,” Cole tapped my cheeks lightly. “Morgan—what’s wrong?”
I clutched at his shoulders. “I hear them,” I whispered.
“Who?’ he demanded. “Who do you hear?”
I took a step backward and shook my head. “Nothing.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me. “It most certainly is not nothing. You look terrified.” He gathered me into his arms, rocked me gently. “Tell me,” he whispered. “Perhaps together, we can make some sense of it.”
I repeated the strange word
s. Cole listened, then frowned.
“Seven seems to be key. Seven points of release. You have no idea what that means?”
I shook my head. “None. I’ve no idea what book they mean, either. And as for the last part…”
Cole pursed his lips. “Could it be some sort of ritual, designed to free or honor a spirit? If so, it would seem like something a member of the Sevites of Marinette might be involved in. It could be some sort of pagan ritual designed to honor her, or to grant a special favor, perhaps.”
“So it’s more important than ever we establish a connection between that society and one or all of our suspect professors.” I shook my head. “Before I report for work today, I’m going to do some research in the University Library. They’re reputed to have the finest research books available on Voodoo—dammit, I have the feeling I’m missing something key, but I just can’t place my finger on it.”
The phone at Cole’s bedside rang. He glanced at the clock, pursed his lips.
“Four a.m. This can’t be good.” He scooped up the receiver. “St. John. Good morning, Commander Stone.” He motioned with his hand, and I slid from the bed, started pulling on my clothes. “What? When? Yes, yes, of course. I’ll locate Morgan. We’ll get right down there.”
I felt a chill go through me as he replaced the receiver. “Something’s happened. Not…oh God. Another one?”
“Yes. They found her in the culvert a mile away from the University.” His eyes met mine. “You might know her, she was in a few of your classes. Margit Culhane.”
Chapter 18
Central City’s morgue was located in a sterile-looking slate colored building, two blocks away from the Special Forces offices. Not a particularly cheery-looking place; then again, it was a morgue. Cole and I passed through the scanner and went down the elevator to the basement. Lord knew, when I worked Homicide I’d been a frequent visitor; in the past eighteen months I’d forgotten just how dank it could be. The smell of dead flesh socked me in the face as I stepped out of the lift, knocked me back a step.
Cole’s hand tightened on my elbow. “You okay?”
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Sure. All this just brings back old memories.”
He gave me a small smile and we walked all the way down to the autopsy bay at the end of the hall. Through the glass door I could see Margit’s body on the slab, partially covered by a white sheet. Her red hair streamed like a fiery waterfall down one side of the steel table. Cole pressed a button on the side of the wall, and the door inched back. Fresh stench assaulted me as soon as we stepped through, bringing tears to my eyes.
The coroner, a tall, gangly man with wild blue eyes and spiked violet-tinted hair, handed us each a tube of VapoRub. I slathered the ointment under my nose and some of the stink started to dissipate.
“Mac Leroy.” He inclined his head. “You’re St. John and Hawkes, right? Commander Stone said you’d probably drop by.”
“Yes.” Cole handed his tube back to Leroy, who dropped it in a small can on one of the tables. “What have you got?”
He reached behind the table, pulled out two surgical masks and handed them to us. “If you want a close-up, you’re gonna need these.” He gave me a dubious look. “Sure you’ll be okay?”
“I’ve seen dead bodies before,” I snapped, as I pulled the mask down over my nose and mouth. “I’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” He motioned for us to follow him. We walked over to the table when Margit lay. I stared down at her face. She looked pale, waxen, her cheeks no longer with the pink flush so becoming on her. I noted the edges of her lips were tinged blue.
“Pretty thing,” Leroy remarked with a sigh. “It’s a damn shame. Sometimes I hate this job.” He yanked back the sheet, revealing the Y-incision on her chest. My eyes travelled upward, and a wave of nausea hit me, filled my mouth and my nostrils, making it almost impossible for me to breathe. My vision started to dim, and out of the vortex I felt myself slipping into, I heard them again:
Two more. You cannot let them get seven.
The blood of Seven will be too late. Too late. We will never be free.
Ago angajan asogwe. Lughnasadh.
The book…the book…
I felt Cole’s arms go round me, supporting me. His fingers lightly tapped my cheek. “Morgan. Morgan, are you all right? Morgan, answer me.”
I raised my hand, wiggled my fingers. “I—I’m fine,” I gasped.
“Yeah, we can see,” Leroy muttered. “Perhaps you should wait outside—“
“No.” I straightened, shook off Cole’s hand, adjusted the mask back across my mouth. “I’m okay now. It—it was just the smell, is all. I—I’m not used to it anymore. It’s been a long time.”
He gave me a long, searching look, then shrugged at Leroy. “Morgan used to work Homicide,” Cole said.
Leroy turned to look at me. “Yeah? Guess you did real well at it.”
“Actually, I did,” I answered. “I’m just out of practice.”
He shook his head. His violet strands looked psychedelic under the fluorescent lighting. “Whatever. Pinch your nose. I hear it helps.”
As we turned to follow Leroy back over to the table, Cole gripped my arm. “You heard those voices, didn’t you? The ones you told me about? The dead witches?”
Leroy tapped his foot impatiently. “Are you two coming? I haven’t got all night, you know. There are other bodies what need my attention.”
“We’ll talk later,” Cole murmured, and drew me alongside him as we stood, looking down at Margit.
Leroy pulled the sheet back, gestured toward the body. “It’s pretty much the same as the others. No sign of sexual molestation. She was bound. Note the rope burns on her wrists and ankles. Cause of death was massive blood loss.” He pointed to the gaping hole across her throat.
Cole leaned over for a closer look. “Any missing body parts on her?”
In answer, Leroy opened her mouth wide. I looked in, then away.
“Jesus. Just like I thought. He took her tongue.”
Leroy gently laid Margit’s head back on the table. “He’s a strange one, this killer. I performed the autopsies on all the others, and they were all pretty much the same, save for the one killed in the University.”
I looked up. “What made that one different?”
“For one thing, she wasn’t tied up. The others all had marks on their wrists and ankles. Also, the killer wasn’t as precise when he removed her eye. The others all seemed to be removed with precision instruments. This was crude, a trifle sloppy.”
I frowned. “So what are you saying? The other deaths were premeditated, while Darla’s came randomly, out of the blue?”
The coroner shrugged. “Maybe. All I can tell you is hers wasn’t as neat and tidy as the others.”
“It could fit,” Cole said. “Think about it—he realizes Florrie’s not a pureblood, he’s made a mistake. Now he needs a substitute. Darla presented herself, and he took advantage of the opportunity.”
I shook my head. “I might buy it, except for the doll. He left the messenger doll with the number five. It indicates premeditation, unless—he changed plans. Switched gears. If this is the work of a society, it’s also possible more than one’s doing the killing.” I turned to Leroy. “Were you able to fix a time of death?”
He nodded. “As close as I can ascertain, she died sometime between midnight and twelve-thirty a.m.”
“Was there a doll found by this body, do you know?”
Leroy ran a hand through his thinning hair, gestured to a row of lockers at the far end of the room. “Your Commander found the body, made sure all the effects—the evidence—was collected, put in there. Top one on the left. You can have a look.”
Cole jerked open the door, pulled out a plastic bag and held it up. Sure enough, the little cloth doll lay right on top, the number six visible around its neck.
“This death was planned, all right,” he said grimly.
I reached out to touch the ba
g, and the voices exploded in my head again, this time with more force than ever:
The blood of seven. Seven points releases him. You cannot let it happen.
You have to help us. We cannot have peace unless you stop it.
Ago angajan asogwe. Lughnasadh.
I felt my eyes roll back in my head, felt the pressure of Cole’s arm around my waist. His breath was very hot against my cheek. “Are you okay?”
I ground my teeth together. “I won’t be, until we catch this guy. I need some fresh air. Let’s get out of here.”
Back in our favorite booth at the All-Nite Diner, Cole ordered black coffee; I seconded that, plus a western omelet. Cole regarded me placidly after the waitress had disappeared back into the kitchen.
“Seems legwork gives you quite an appetite,” he remarked.
I picked up the small glass of water, drained it. “Yep, sure does. I’m exposed—the real reason I quit Homicide. So I could fit into my size eight pants again.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re more like a size six, my dear.”
I felt color stain my cheeks. “Getting back to the matter at hand,” I said, “since when do Commanders visit crime scenes?”
Cole shrugged. “All Special Forces personnel are very hands-on. Stone’s known for being very thorough.”
I snorted. “She probably just likes to see if she can find something her underlings missed so she can rub their noses in it.”
He chuckled. “You’re not far from the truth.”
“She ever do that to you?”
“Nope. But I know Stone often does patrols at night, particularly what we refer to as the problem areas—which the University is, right now.”
I sighed. “Just strikes me a little odd, is all. You’d never see the Police Commissioner or Captain Gilley out in the trenches.”
“Different strokes,” Cole smiled up at the waitress as she set a steaming mug of coffee in front of him. She put a similar one in front of me, as well as a heaping plate of fluffy omelet. I picked up the ketchup, squirted it liberally over the eggs.
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