“Trust me, I’ve heard worse.” The Mave crossed to stand beside the large desk where a fully loaded tea tray was waiting. “Refreshment?”
“No.” Callie stepped next to him, elbowing him in the ribs to remind him of his manners. “Thank you,” he tagged on lamely, dropping into the leather seat.
Callie took the one next to him while the Mave slid into her seat behind the desk, her gaze on the young diviner.
“Callie, how are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“No headaches?”
“None.”
“Good.” The gray eyes shifted toward Duncan. “I heard that you had a telephone call from your chief?”
Refusing to answer wasn’t an option. Not beneath that unnerving gaze.
“Leah’s body is missing.”
Something darkened the gray eyes. Not the shock he’d been expecting, but ... unease?
“Missing?”
“Yes.”
“Negligence or theft?”
He shrugged, wise enough not to take offense at the blunt question. “No one knows for sure.”
“But your chief suspects that a high-blood was involved?”
He swallowed a groan. Why had he insisted on traveling to Valhalla? It should be Molinari sitting in this chair being grilled by the Mave.
Talk about a clash of the Titans.
Now he was forced to choose his words with care. “She’s just covering all the bases.”
A wry smile twisted her lips. “Very diplomatic, Sergeant.”
“I’m not often accused of diplomacy.”
“No kidding,” Callie muttered beside him.
He flashed her an unrepentant grin before returning his attention to the powerful woman behind the desk.
“The chief has another officer checking out the usual suspects.”
“But?” she prompted.
“There was nothing on the cameras and no eye witnesses,” Duncan confessed. “So either it was an inside job or magic.”
The Mave leaned back in her seat, her expression troubled. “A pity.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was hoping it was a common body snatching.”
A ball of dread settled in the pit of his stomach.
If this woman was bothered by something then it had to be bad.
Bad on an epic scale.
“You know something,” he breathed.
Taking a file from the top drawer, she handed it across the desk. “Here.”
His dread deepened as he opened the file to discover newspaper clippings, police reports, and faded photos.
“Paris. Vienna. Johannesburg.” He glanced up in surprise. “How did you get these?”
“I called in a few favors after I spoke with Callie. I thought it important to know if the strange death of Leah was an isolated incident or something”—she considered a beat—“larger.”
Duncan read through the police reports, some that dated back fifty years, before moving to the newspaper clippings that were even older.
He suddenly understood the Mave’s concern.
“Shit.”
Callie reached to lightly touch his arm. “What is it?”
“Leah wasn’t the first murder victim to be missing their heart,” he rasped.
The young diviner frowned, glancing at the file in his hands. “How could you not hear of them? I thought police shared that sort of information?”
“They’ve all happened several years apart and on different continents. The first was nearly a hundred years ago.” He returned his attention to the grainy photos. There was nothing to connect the victims. An aging priest. A rugged explorer. An artist. “Can I share these with the chief?”
“Of course,” the Mave readily agreed.
He lifted his head to meet her steady gaze. “Do these murders have any meaning?”
“Not to me.”
His cop’s instincts picked up on what she wasn’t saying. “But it might to someone else?”
“Most old tales have some kernel of truth at the heart of them,” she murmured.
“Are you speaking of a specific old tale?”
“The ones that claim a necromancer can truly control the dead.”
He shot a startled glance toward Callie, who held up her hands in denial.
“Don’t look at me.”
He turned back to the Mave. “Is it possible?”
“Yesterday I would have said no. Today...” She shrugged.
Great. Just fucking fantastic.
He could already feel the panic that would spread through the human population if word got out there was a necromancer out there killing young females and stealing their bodies. They would load their guns, ready to shoot every freak they could find, regardless of their innocence.
“Tell me more about what these necromancers could do,” he abruptly demanded. He needed a way to halt the killer.
Fast.
“My knowledge is no more than bedside stories.” The gray eyes held a grim understanding of the looming tragedy. “The same ones I’m sure you’ve heard.”
He hissed in frustration. “So I’m looking for a creature from a fairy tale?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Do you have any suggestions where I might start?”
She lifted a dark brow, regarding him as if he were disappointingly dense. “Where else would you start but the Keeper of Tales?”
There was a choked sound before Callie was surging to her feet. “You can’t be serious.”
Duncan slowly rose, astonished by Callie’s fierce reaction. “Who is the Keeper of Tales?” he demanded, almost afraid to ask.
“Boggs. He’s—” The Mave struggled for the right word.
Callie had it. “Crazy,” she said. “Stark raving mad.”
“Eccentric, as are many scholars,” the older woman smoothly corrected. “But he’s managed to collect and preserve our folk tales.”
Duncan frowned. “So he’s a ... librarian?”
“Of sorts,” the Mave hedged.
“Fine, I’ll talk to him.” Duncan shrugged. At this point he’d make a lunch date with Beelzebub if necessary. “If he has information I don’t care if he’s crazy or not.”
The two women exchanged a look that spoke of secrets.
“He isn’t here,” the Mave at last admitted.
“How long will he be gone?”
“Actually, you’ll have to go to him,” the witch informed him.
“If he’ll let you,” Callie added in disgusted tones.
Okay. There were enough undercurrents in the room to drown an elephant. Or a very suspicious cop.
“What am I missing?”
The Mave rose to cross toward the window, moving with a regal grace. “Boggs is unusual even among high-bloods.”
A freakish freak?
Not comforting.
“How unusual?”
“He was born blind, but he insists that people and even objects whisper to him.” Sympathy softened her grim expression. “That’s why he lives in absolute isolation.”
Well ... that didn’t seem so bad. He half expected a lunatic who ate babies for breakfast.
“Whisper what to him?”
“It’s never the same. Sometimes the future ... or at least, a possible future,” the Mave said. “More often it’s the past or the present.”
“It’s nonsense,” Callie muttered.
Duncan studied her flushed face with a lift of his brows. “Do I sense a history?”
She wrapped her arms around her waist. “He demanded to see me on the day that Fane became my guardian.”
Duncan’s hands clenched at the thought of this woman being bonded to another. Platonic or not, the relationship made Fane far too possessive.
“Was there significance in the date?” he growled.
“Who knows?” Callie gave a wave of her hand. “The man is a whack job.”
Duncan stilled, studying her growing agitation with a curious gaze. T
his was not the cool and composed Callie he knew.
“What did he tell you?”
“It doesn’t matter. As I said, he’s nuts.”
Accepting that now wasn’t the time to demand a full confession, Duncan glanced toward the Mave, who was regarding Callie with a worried expression.
“What do you think I can learn from Boggs?” he asked, barely leashing his instinctive urge to tug the fragile diviner into the protection of his arms.
The witch smoothed her features into an unreadable mask as she turned toward Duncan. “His gifts have allowed him to amass a vast amount of knowledge.”
“Yeah, but is it trustworthy?” He grimaced. “We have witnesses coming into the station on a daily basis claiming to have seen murders and kidnappings and even Elvis Presley in a spaceship.”
She held his gaze for a long, unnerving minute. “That’s for you to decide.”
Holy shit. Did she suspect that he had a few unusual talents of his own? He’d never considered the possibility that so many freaks would sense he wasn’t normal when he insisted on traveling to Valhalla.
Stupid of him.
He cleared his throat. Time for a diversion.
“So how do I find him?”
“You can’t,” the Mave informed him. “Not unless he wants to be found.”
So the one person who could potentially give them a clue to the murders was impossible to find. Duncan rolled his eyes. “Perfect.”
“I’ll try to contact him,” the Mave promised, returning to her seat behind the desk. “If he’s willing to speak with you then Fane will be able to locate him.”
“Christ, I thought the day started off bad.” Duncan shuddered, not happy with the thought of being yanked through space with the Sentinel. He didn’t trust the bastard not to deliberately scramble his molecules. “Now I have to spend more time with Lurch?”
Callie snorted. “I doubt Fane will be any happier.”
The Mave glanced toward the young diviner. “I fear he’ll be even less pleased when he discovers you are to accompany them.”
“Ah.” Duncan smiled even as Callie turned a sickly shade of gray. “The day is looking up.”
“Crap,” Callie muttered.
Chapter Seven
Callie hadn’t expected to eat.
The choice of taking Duncan to the dining hall and settling at a table next to the windows overlooking the inner courtyard had been more a case of self-preservation than a desire for food.
She wasn’t sure what would happen if they were alone together in a room, but she did know it would include heated kisses and missing clothes ...
A tempting way to spend the night, but not when they were destined to be interrupted.
When she finally had this man in her bed she intended to devote several hours to exploring his naked body.
But once the plates of salad, lasagna, and garlic bread arrived, she found herself polishing her plate and even indulging in a serving of tiramisu.
The chefs of Valhalla could work at any five-star hotel. Thank god her metabolism burned at an accelerated rate.
At last pushing back her empty plates, she looked up to discover Duncan glancing around the crowded room with a wary expression.
“Are they glaring at me because I’m a norm or because I’m with you?” he demanded sourly.
She shrugged. When this was all over with she was going to have her friends lining up for an explanation of why she’d looked so cozy with Duncan O’Conner, but for now she didn’t care what they thought.
“Probably because you’re a cop.”
He sent her a disgruntled frown. “What’s wrong with cops?”
“Many high-bloods have had unpleasant encounters with authority figures.”
He reached for his chilled bottle of beer. “Haven’t we all?”
She narrowed her gaze at his casual disregard for what her people had suffered over the years. “It’s not the same. Most police assume we’re evil by nature.”
“You shouldn’t take it personal,” he denied. “Cops are always suspicious.”
“Yeah right.”
Perhaps recalling his coroner’s reaction to her presence only hours ago, he took a deep swig of the beer.
“Change takes time.”
“So they say.”
He leaned back in his seat, setting aside the beer bottle. In the overhead lights his pale hair had the smooth sheen of polished gold and his lean features were more starkly beautiful than ever.
It made her regret her decision to choose the public dining room instead of her apartment.
At least until the next words fell from his lips. “Tell me what happened with Boggs.”
It was the question she’d been expecting since they’d left the Mave’s office, but it still managed to catch her off guard.
“That’s none of your business.”
He focused on her with that stubborn concentration that made him such a good cop.
And an annoying dinner companion.
“And what if I want it to be my business?”
She shifted to make sure her back was to the rest of the room. If any of her friends caught sight of her scowl they’d be charging over in a heartbeat to rescue her.
“Are you willing to let me pry into your privacy?”
He lifted one shoulder. “What do you want to know?”
“Did you love your wife?”
He sucked in a deep breath, his hand clenched on top of the table. “Straight for the jugular, eh, Callie?”
“Not so eager to play now?” she taunted.
There was a short, explosive pause before he folded his arms over his chest. “I knew Susan from the first day of kindergarten,” he said in clipped tones, his expression screwed down tight. “She was a good Catholic girl from the neighborhood who seemed exactly the sort of woman I should marry. My parents were delighted.”
She knew she should back off. It was obviously still difficult for him to discuss his wife.
Ex-wife.
And she had no right to press. But a part of her had to know. It was like a thorn beneath her skin that was becoming unbearable.
“That didn’t answer my question,” she said, her gaze never leaving his hard expression.
There was another long, painful pause.
“I was truly fond of Susan, but I didn’t crave her like a man should crave his wife,” he abruptly admitted.
“Crave?” She blinked in surprise. “That’s an interesting choice of words.”
He surged forward, grabbing her hand and pressing her inner wrist to his lips.
“A relationship shouldn’t be a comfortable arrangement,” he growled against her racing pulse. “It should be heat and passion and raw emotions.”
An electric jolt of excitement arrowed straight through her, making her squirm in her seat.
Yow. Talk about heat. She felt singed.
“I get the picture,” she breathed.
Lowering her hand, he kept his fingers wrapped around her wrist, his thumb teasing the spot he’d just kissed.
“Tell me about Boggs.”
She sighed, but she made no move to pull away from his light grasp. If she were to be honest, she needed the comforting warmth of his touch. The memory of her visit to Boggs wasn’t something she wanted to dredge up.
Not ever.
“He sent word to the Mave that he’d come across an artifact that spoke about a coming threat,” she said in low tones.
“The usual mumbo jumbo of supposed prophets?”
“Exactly,” she said, her skin growing clammy as she remembered the dark cave that had been filled with stale air and piles of strange objects that looked like they’d come from a Hollywood set. It’d been creepy as hell. Especially for a girl who’d rarely left Valhalla. “He insisted that he needed to speak with the ‘young diviner with the eyes like sapphires.’”
“He did get the eyes right,” Duncan murmured. “Are they unusual?”
“Most diviners have gree
n or brown eyes.”
“How many diviners are there? Or is that a secret?”
“There are less than twenty spread around the world.”
He seemed startled by her confession. “A rare gift.”
She shrugged. “Yes, but not the most rare.”
He frowned, as if wanting to know exactly what else might be out there that was even more rare than a necro, but then he gave a sharp shake of his head.
“So Boggs demanded to see you?” he asked, clearly refusing to be distracted.
“Yes.”
“And what did he say?”
She shuddered. Even after twelve years she could still recall the sight of Boggs when he shed his robe and revealed his hidden power.
“That the dead rest uneasy in their graves.”
He studied her carefully bland expression. “You weren’t impressed?”
Her lips stretched in a humorless smile. “I’d have been more impressed if he hadn’t kept me waiting in a damp cave for ten hours only to tell me the exact same thing I’d heard from a carnival fortune-teller when I was twelve.”
“The fortune-teller told you the same thing?”
Damn. She wished she hadn’t let that slip.
It made the coincidence seem far more important than it was.
Or at least, more important than she’d always hoped it was.
Now ... well, she wasn’t so sure.
“It’s no secret I’m a diviner,” she said in what she hoped was dismissive tones. “What else would they say?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” The hint of gold was suddenly more pronounced in the hazel eyes. A sure sign he was imagining her naked. “Maybe that you were destined to meet a handsome cop who was going to rock your world.”
The tight bands closing around her chest eased at his deliberate teasing. “You really have the most god-awful pickup lines,” she said with a shake of her head.
“Good thing I’m gorgeous.”
“And so modest.”
His brief smile faded, his expression somber. “Are you sure it wasn’t more than just a fluke that you received the same warning from two different sources?”
She wrinkled her nose. It’d been a question that had haunted her more than once over the years. And always, she came to the same conclusion.
“What if it was?” she asked with growing impatience. “What am I supposed to do about restless corpses?”
Born in Blood (The Sentinels) Page 7