Aspen

by Skye Knizley

  “I don’t know what happened to Martel, all I know is he is dead, and I am looking into it.”

  She pulled a plain black card printed with white numbers out of her pocket. “If you find anything that could help, give me a call.”

  The lycan took the card and slipped it into his jacket. “Thank you. The Mistress will still want to meet with you, Faramo Tempeste, it is not often we entertain the familiar of a Fürstin. I would not delay the meeting, were I you.”

  Aspen hefted Martel’s gear along with her own. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  She nodded her goodbye and followed Jynx to the end of the corridor, where she rang for the elevator.

  “Are you trying to get us killed?” Aspen whispered.

  Jynx made a face. “Two pups and an alpha was hardly enough to kill us.”

  Aspen fought to keep her voice down. “Are you nuts? That guy is the Mistress’ lapdog and his pals were just as tough—”

  Jynx cut her off. “I’m a trained hunter and you’re a freaking Fae. We could have mopped the floor with them!”

  “And then had to explain to the Mistress why we killed three of her pets!”

  Jynx stepped into the elevator and turned. “Only because you’re some flouncy familiar. How come you didn’t mention that?”

  Aspen stepped into the elevator with her and mashed the lobby button as if it had offended her. “It isn’t like I wear a nametag and she’s in Chicago. I was trying to stay under the radar, I have no idea what to do if I get dragged into court. I just want to be left alone.”

  Jynx popped her gum. “How is that working out for you?”

  Aspen watched the doors close. “About as well as I’d expected.”

  She rode in silence, wanting to tug on the thin thread of silver that connected her to Raven. To call, say she was sorry for bailing, and ask for help with this case. But she couldn’t. She didn’t know if it was her pride or worse, the thought that Raven wouldn’t come, but she couldn’t bring herself to make the call. Instead, she leaned against the wall and tried to lose herself in the investigation. There were two more corpses, all somehow tied up with preternaturals enough to have the Mistress snooping around. That was either a good thing or a very bad thing, depending on the Mistress’ interest in justice or covering up preternatural activity. Lady Valentina was one of the few interested in justice, most just swept it under the rug and did all they could to protect their secret.

  The doors opened and Aspen stepped out into the main lobby. It was a huge room with one wall made up entirely of tinted windows that looked out over the garden and provided a view of the not so distant Arch. Burgundy sofas and white tables were arranged on a variety of expensive-looking rugs to form semi-private sitting and meeting areas in front of the windows and a baby grand sat at the end. A pianist was seated at the keys, playing softly and bidding goodbye to guests on their way to the airport.

  On the opposite side of the room was a long counter of wood covered in black and white lacquer. Three clerks worked at discretely hidden computers, helping guests with their bills and offering directions to local sights. Aspen shouldered the bags and moved across the lobby to the desk, trying to act as if she belonged there. When she reached the counter she held out her credentials, which said she was the Chicago police.

  “Good morning, my name is Aspen Kincaid, I’m a forensic tech on loan to St. Louis police. I need to look at last night’s surveillance footage of the lobby, please,” she said.

  The clerk, a young man with a shock of blond-dyed hair that didn’t match his eyebrows and a prominent Adam’s apple arched an eyebrow at the credentials. “What does this pertain to?”

  Aspen took her credentials back. “A case I am helping with. I’m sorry, I can’t really tell you anything else. Is there a security guard I can talk to?”

  The clerk reached for the handset beneath the counter. “One moment, let me call him.”

  He busied himself with the phone and Aspen tried to look bored. Jynx leaned against the counter beside her. “Whatcha doin?”

  “Asking to see the security footage from last night,” Aspen replied.

  Jynx popped her gum again. “And you hope to find…”

  Aspen shrugged. “Something helpful.”

  The clerk finished his hushed conversation and smiled. “The security manager will be with you in a moment. Have a seat.”

  He pointed at a nearby seating area with his pen and turned to help the next customer. Aspen dropped onto one of the couches and began rummaging through Martel’s bag. Jynx, however, turned away. Aspen could only assume she was following the sign that said ‘breakfast’.

  Aspen pulled one of the video cameras from the bag. It was an ultramodern design from a company named Iticce, complete with night vision setting and the capability of streaming to a pc or other device via Bluetooth. The controls were more complicated than they needed to be, but after a moment she was able to bring up the last recording. It showed Martel via night vision. It was tough to see what was behind him, but based on the angles, Aspen thought it was his bedroom within the hotel.

  “It’s been five days since Devil’s Lake. As you can see, I’m still getting weaker.”

  On the small screen, he opened his shirt to show his ribs and emaciated abdomen. “A week ago you couldn’t see my ribs. I had a six pack, I’ve had it since the Marines, but now it is gone. I don’t know what’s happening to me, maybe this Deòrsa Vlašić will have some answers. I meet with him in the morning.”

  The recording ended with him turning off the camera and was followed by the date and time stamp which indicated he’d taken the recording early in the morning yesterday, presumably before meeting Deòrsa Vlašić, whoever that was.

  Aspen was still searching through the footage when a portly gentleman with a ruddy complexion and close-cropped, red hair joined her and extended a hand in greeting.

  “Good morning, Detective Kincaid. I’m John Larsen, security manager here at the Four Seasons. What can I do for you?”

  Aspen stood and shook the offered hand. She hadn’t said she was a detective, but if it got her foot in the door, it was worth playing along. She’d seen Raven do it enough times to know what was expected.

  “Thank you for seeing me. I am working on a case and I think my suspect might have been in your lobby last night. Is it possible for me to get a look at your surveillance footage of the lobby?” she asked.

  Larsen smiled. “Of course, we are always happy to help the authorities. Come this way, please.”

  Aspen grabbed her bags and followed him through a side door into the employee area behind the lobby. They stopped in front of a door marked Security and he pressed a five digit code into the keypad beside it. The door buzzed and he ushered Aspen through into a modern-looking security office. A female technician with dusky skin and the blackest hair Aspen had ever seen sat behind a desk, her eyes glued on the bank of cameras in front of her. She stood when Larsen entered and smiled at Aspen.

  “Ricki said you were looking for footage from the lobby,” she said. “I’ve got it all cued up for you. With your permission, Mr. Larsen?”

  “Of course, Zaira. I will leave you to it, I’m late for a meeting.”

  Larsen nodded at Aspen and stepped back into the hallway, closing the door behind him. Aspen set her gear down and joined Zaira behind the desk. Zaira pressed some keys on her console and the video began playing on four monitors.

  “I can show you the main lobby, stairs, elevators or the registration desk,” she said.

  Aspen frowned. “Show me the stairs and elevators, please.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Zaira said.

  Her long fingers danced on the controls and the footage rearranged itself onto the largest of the monitors. The feed showed the door to the main stairs and the bank of elevators, both of which were about as interesting as watching paint dry
on a wet day. Guests came and went, none looking familiar or even particularly interesting. Aspen was about to give up when the deceased man and woman entered the frame, dressed exactly as Aspen had found them. They stopped in front of the elevators, waited, and then stepped aboard. A moment later, a lone man entered the stairs. He was dressed in a black suit and had black hair parted on the left. He paused at the stairs and looked over his shoulder as if looking to see if he was observed, then entered the stairwell.

  “Bring up the third floor stairs at around the same time as this,” Aspen said.

  Zaira looked as if she was about to burst from excitement. She grinned and touched another series of controls. The stairway camera popped up on another screen and she fast-forwarded to the same time period.

  “I’m guessing you’ve never done anything like this, have you? Review and examine footage?” Aspen asked.

  Zaira shook her head. “No, ma’am. I usually just sit and watch, this is the most excitement I’ve had at this job.”

  Aspen opened her mouth to thank her, but her eye was drawn to a flash on the screen.

  “Play that back and slow it down,” she said.

  Zaira complied. On the screen was the black-suited man, just stepping through the stairwell door onto the third floor. The flash Aspen had seen was his eyes. When he looked past the camera, his eyes flickered, just long enough to register on the screen. He then turned toward room 343 and walked out of view.

  “What was that?” Zaira asked.

  Aspen shook her head. “I don’t know. Can you save that to a drive for me?”

  Zaira plucked a memory card from a case in front of her and saved the footage. When it was done she turned and handed it to Aspen.

  “That was the coolest thing! Was it a glitch or something?”

  Aspen put the card in her pocket. “Probably. I’m more interested in his face than a camera glitch. Thank you for your help.”

  Zaira leaned back in her chair. “Any time, detective.”

  Aspen gathered her gear and retraced her route to the lobby, where she found Jynx lounging on a sofa with one leg draped over the back. She was nibbling on a bagel and flipping through some kind of gun magazine.

  “Comfortable?” Aspen asked.

  Jynx sat up and tossed her magazine aside. “Not really, these sofas are harder than concrete. The cute clerk said you were looking at security footage, did you find anything?”

  Aspen held up the memory card. “Maybe. I need to do some research before it’s conclusive. Can I hitch a ride back to Smokin’ Guns?”

  Jynx tossed her gum into a trash bin and fished a new piece out of her jeans. She noticed Aspen watching and shrugged. “I’m trying to quit smoking, but so far, I’m an epic fail. Come on, let’s get out of here, the atmosphere is boring me.”

  Once on the road, Aspen pulled a notebook from her bag and began flipping through the dog-eared pages. “Have you ever heard of anything that has silver eyes on video? Eyes that kind of flicker?”

  Jynx chewed her lip as she thought. “Pipe and I aren’t really good with technology, we do things the old-fashioned way. From what I’ve heard, it might be a shifter, maybe a skin-walker or something.”

  Aspen shook her head. “It’s not a skin-walker, they tend to rip people into tiny pieces not drain their life-force. This is something different, something I haven’t seen before.”

  “What are you going to do next?” Jynx asked.

  Aspen looked at her. “Don’t tell me you’re getting interested in the case.”

  Jynx stared out the windshield. “No. Maybe. I dunno, I’m curious, okay? Maybe it’s a critter after all, something different.”

  “If you want to tag along later, I could sure use your help. I’m not much of a hunter.”

  Jynx guided the Charger to a stop outside Smokin’ Guns and Aspen climbed out. She slammed the door behind her and leaned down to look through the window at Jynx.

  “Are you coming back?”

  “I dunno. It depends on Piper and if she’s well enough to move on. What about you?” Jynx asked.

  Aspen hefted Martel’s gear bag. “I’m going to sort through this mess and see if I can find any leads. He has hours of footage, there has to be something useful in there.”

  Jynx chewed her gum like it had offended her. “Okay. I’ll check in with you after visiting hours either way. The least I can do is say goodbye to you and Creek.”

  Aspen stepped back and watched the black Charger rumble away. When it was gone, she returned to her room and began sorting through everything she’d collected from Martel’s hotel room. Most of the equipment had been cleaned and the memory wiped before being put away, but other items showed they had been recently used and not put away with the same care. Two of the video cameras, including the one she’d already examined and an audio recorder were set aside while the rest went back into the bag.

  She spent the next few hours sorting through a collection of SD cards and audio recordings. Most of the data had been uploaded to a laptop that wasn’t present with the rest of his gear, but there was enough for Aspen to get the gist. Martel had been a paranormal investigator who liked to debunk haunted sites, which was enough to get him put on a variety of hit lists. Odd though it sounded, while preternaturals didn’t want the world at large to know of their existence, they also didn’t appreciate humans coming along and telling the world they were fairy stories. More than a few of television’s finest paranormal investigators had received attention from an angry Master or Mistress and found their careers swirling down the toilet.

  From what she could glean, Martel’s last investigation had been to Devil’s Lake, an abandoned town in northern Missouri. Rumor was that the town had been abandoned in the sixties because it was haunted by an unknown force that kidnapped people in the middle of the night. Those taken were never seen again. Martel and his team had gone to Devil’s Lake about two weeks ago to do an investigation and debunk what Martel called “Ridiculous superstition.” Two weeks later, he was dead and most of his team was missing.

  According to his records, he’d come to St Louis to meet with someone named Deòrsa Vlašić about what he’d found in Devil’s Lake, but nowhere had he documented what, exactly, he’d found or wanted to discuss. Maybe this Deòrsa Vlašić had some clue as to why he wanted to meet.

  Aspen jotted the name down in her notebook for later investigation and stuffed the rest of the evidence into her bag. She had a friend down at the state lab who might be able to help shed some light on the gook under Martel’s fingernails and the footage she’d found, some of which was so dark as to be unwatchable. She was on her way to the diner to ask for a ride when Creek caught up with her at the diner’s back door. He’d put on a pair of overalls and donned work boots that had been new when Roosevelt was in office, but his lanky arms were still bare. Creek’s thick skin seemed impervious to burning grease and oil.

  “Ye got some vis’tors,” he said.

  He nodded meaningfully at the front of the diner, where a black SUV was parked. As if on cue, the rear passenger window rolled down and a long-nailed hand waved a black handkerchief.

  “Who is it?” Aspen asked.

  Creek looked unhappy. “Th’ Mistress. She wants t’ see ya.”

  Aspen patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, Creek, I’ll take care of it.”

  She took out her tablet and handed him her bag. “Put this behind the counter please? I’ll be back to get it in a bit.”

  Creek held the bag as if it was weightless. “O’course. Be careful, ‘spen.”

  Aspen smiled with more confidence than she felt, slipped her tablet into her jacket’s pocket and moved to the SUV. The passenger window was still down and she could see a tall, attractive woman with platinum blonde hair and doll-like eyes. She was wearing a Gothic Lolita dress complete with top hat and platform boots that must have added six inches t
o her height.

  “Ah, Aspen Tempeste, so good to make your acquaintance,” she said.

  Her voice had a forced breathiness that made Aspen want to slap her.

  “And you are?” she asked.

  The woman smiled and inclined her head slightly. “I am Rowan, Lady Blackwood’s familiar. She asks you accompany me to the Manor so she may greet you properly.”

  Aspen shook her head. “I’m not here—”

  “On house business,” Rowan finished. “Yes, Bruno told me. Regardless, you are here and should speak with the Mistress. Please, don’t force me to detain you.”

  “Now I know why traveling always pisses Raven off,” Aspen muttered.

  She gave Rowan a slight bow and the front passenger door opened. She climbed inside the big SUV and wished, not for the first time, that Raven were here.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Millennium Park, Chicago, IL, 9:00 a.m.

  Raven Storm pounded down the sidewalk, her flaming red hair streaming behind her like a super hero’s cape. She dodged around early morning joggers and past people walking dogs so small they could be mistaken for leashed squirrels in her pursuit of a middle-aged man in a flapping black jacket and black leather pants that almost matched her own. She was dressed in a blue silk tank top, black jacket and leather pants tucked into knee-high boots that held her silver knives securely against her calves. Her silvered pistol, an antique Automag III that fired the .30 carbine round, was clenched in her hand and her badge banged against her chest with every step.

  “Freeze, police! Dammit, freeze means stop!” she yelled.

  The man didn’t slow. He leapt over the hedge at the end of the walk and vanished into the next courtyard. Raven followed, easily clearing the hedge to land in a grassy courtyard surrounded by high hedges and protected by the worst of the sun by tall, shady trees. It smelled of fresh cut grass and cedar bark.