by Laura Hall
“I know,” I whispered.
Fangs pricked my skin, a light sting that made my blood rush hard in my veins. “Don’t summon me again. I won’t be nearly as polite next time.”
Then he was gone.
Five
Three days and three peaceful nights of pill-induced sleep later, the landline in the pub rang. It was four in the afternoon and the bar was empty and quiet. I was so startled by the sudden noise, I dropped the pint glass I’d been cleaning. It bounced off a rubber mat and rolled unharmed into a corner.
Mal, standing at the other end of the bar, turned to stare at the outdated, wall-mounted telephone. “I didn’t know it still worked,” he said.
“Don’t you pay a monthly bill?” I asked incredulously.
He shrugged. “Are you going to answer that? It’s pretty annoying.”
“It’s your bar!”
He scowled. “Answer the damn phone. It’s a foot away from you.”
I waited two more obnoxious rings, hoping the caller would hang up. No such luck. Yanking the receiver off the wall, I said, “Sullivan’s Pub.”
“Fiona? It’s Charlie Ramirez, your dad’s old partner at the LAPD. Please don’t hang up.”
For a few seconds, my brain was useless. Then reason reasserted itself. “I know who you are, Charlie,” I said, shooting a suspicious glance at Mal. He shook his head, denying involvement. “It’s been a long time. How did you know I was here?”
The line rustled as he shuffled papers on his desk, a nervous habit for as long as I’d known the man. “An anonymous tip.”
“I call bullshit.”
He sighed heavily. “It was mentioned to me that a white-haired woman with gray eyes was tending bar at Sullivan’s. I tried to come see you last night, but your uncle has some sort of ward around the place. Tell Malcolm I won’t report him this time, but he needs to take it down.”
I shot a look at Mal and mouthed, “Illegal ward?”
“It’s set against people who intend to see or talk to you,” he said matter-of-factly. “If he wants to give me a violation, so be it. I’ll pay the fine.”
My brows lifted. “Impressive.” He smirked and went back to cleaning glasses.
“Fiona?” asked Charlie.
“Yeah. What do you want?”
“I’m going to ignore that the flower girl from my wedding and former babysitter of my children is speaking to me with such animosity.”
I sighed. “Sorry. But I seriously doubt you’re calling me because the twins need a sitter. I haven’t seen or spoken to you in almost twenty years.”
Which wasn’t his fault, really. Ascension had turned me into a lightning bug, and in the early years my lack of control had made me imminently dangerous to those around me. It had taken a lot of work, time, and Mal’s best spells to afford me any measure of normalcy.
“You’re right,” he said soberly. “I’m sorry it’s been so long. And I was sorry to hear about your fiancé.”
A pang of old sadness hit. I shook it off. “Charlie, I’m about to hang up—”
“Wait! Please hear me out. I heard you assisted the FBI in tracking a terrorist organization. That you tracked them with your, uh, unique power.”
Not true. Well, sort of not true.
“This is what happens when you listen to rumors,” I said airily.
“Three women have gone missing in the last month. A shifter, vamp, and cipher. All Ascended at age twenty-one.” Which meant they were forever young, at least in body. “All three were blond, similar heights and builds.”
I shuddered. “I don’t—”
“Only one crime scene has been found, the location of the last woman’s disappearance. Our mages picked up a weird resonance, but can’t identify it.”
Through clenched teeth, I said, “Call the Prime’s Office. That’s what it’s there for.”
There was a long pause. A too-long pause. Finally, he said, “I did. Yesterday. I was a little surprised when the Prime himself took the call. He told me where you were and said to call you. I wasn’t supposed to tell you—”
Connor.
Adrenaline surged through me. I took the single step to the mounted base and slammed the receiver home. Breathing heavily, I bent until my forehead contacted the glass counter behind the bar.
For three days I’d been carefully not thinking about him, and especially not about what he’d been doing at four in the morning with some other woman. I’d been meditating religiously to stay in the moment. Running miles every morning. Drinking tea instead of coffee. But clearly all my efforts had been for naught, as the mere mention of him turned me into a lunatic.
Was he thinking about me at all? If he was angry, did it mean he still cared?
I wasn’t deluded—I knew I had issues.
Without consciously intending to, I felt within for the ephemeral chord that bound us. For six months I’d ignored it, afraid if I sought him out it would negate the effects of Janelle’s arrowhead and he would, in turn, find me.
Giving in at last was a relief.
I felt him immediately. A tug in my consciousness. A heaviness in my chest. He was far north of L.A., likely at his compound outside Seattle. For several moments, I forgot everything but the feel of him, his power a limitless starry sky, a drug that scattered my wits.
“Dammit,” I whispered. “Shit. Damn. Dammit.”
“Maybe your father’s right and I’m a bad influence on your language.”
I rotated my head toward Mal, pressing my burning cheek against the glass. “Connor.”
“You don’t say,” he said drolly.
I straightened slowly. “There are three missing women.”
He continued wiping glasses. “Huh.”
“Charlie thinks I can help. So, apparently, does Connor.”
“Does he?”
“Mal!”
His hazel eyes took on a merry glint. “What’s your play, kiddo? Run or rise to the challenge?”
I scowled. “You used to be my favorite uncle.”
“I’m your only uncle.”
I pushed upright, my blood surging. Because that’s what it was: a challenge from the vampire to me. There were no mistakes in the world of Connor Thorne. He’d wanted Charlie to spill the beans, to evoke a reaction. To test me. Well, he’d made his point.
I could almost see his smug smile.
“Uh-oh,” intoned Mal.
“Shut up,” I snapped and picked up the phone.
Six
Tiffany Lancaster, victim number three, lived in a walkup studio in Venice. Ages ago the building had been a small hotel, but someone with dollar signs in their eyes had bought and converted it into studio apartments. At just one block from the beach, the tenants likely sold pieces of their souls to make rent.
A few minutes before 8:00 p.m., a stammering, uniformed officer escorted me inside the building and to the top floor. Charlie waited outside the end unit, its doorway marked with police tape. Beside him was a woman, her aura a familiar, vampiric tickle against my skin. The request for a late meeting now made sense, and a glance out the window at the end of the hall confirmed that the sun had indeed set. The vamp must have arrived seconds before me.
Thanks to Ascension, my dad’s old partner hadn’t aged physically since I’d last seen him, yet still managed to look haggard. Immortality couldn’t do much about his receding hairline, lack of muscle tone, or the bags under his eyes. Not helping Charlie’s image were wrinkled khakis and a striped button-down so old it should be burned. Even his shifter energy was a low, tired pulse.
“Thanks for coming, Fiona. This is my partner, Lola Franklin.”
Unlike Charlie, Lola looked fresh pressed and eager. She was whipcord lean, with radiant mocha skin and a smile like a small sun. Neither of them seemed inclined to shake my hand, which was probably a good thing. Although I was growing more confident in Lucian’s training, I wanted to avoid unnecessary risks. And fried laypersons.
“Nice to meet you, Detect
ive,” I said.
“And you, Ms. Sullivan,” said Lola warmly. “The Prime has our gratitude for sending you over.”
I glanced sharply at Charlie, my loose hair whipping over a shoulder. Beside him, Lola froze, nostrils flaring and pupils dilating. She drew a short breath and let it out in a rush. Dainty fangs peeked out from behind her lips.
“Franklin,” blurted Charlie, “get a hold of yourself!”
“It’s me,” I said and took an immediate, large step backward, though it was more for Lola’s benefit than mine. Even if she lost her mind to bloodlust and came after me, she wouldn’t be able to bite me. Last year, a vampire much older and more powerful than Lola had tried to make a snack of me and been turned into gibbering nutcase. Granted, she’d already had one foot in crazytown, but the fact remained. My blood was for Connor alone, one perk of the compagno bond I was totally fine with.
Lola stumbled away from me, darting down the hallway so quickly she blurred. “Just need a minute,” she called weakly. “Sorry!”
“It’s not her fault,” I said, addressing a mystified Charlie. “I smell particularly tasty to vamps.”
What had been a minor nuisance since Ascension had grown exponentially worse since last fall. The unlocking of my full potential had triggered a genetic awakening of another kind. I now smelled Fae, which was synonymous with vampire bacon. Likely one of the chief reasons the races didn’t get along.
Charlie sniffed a few times, his eyes taking on a yellow tint. “And here I thought it was just a nice perfume.”
I smiled at his lie. Shifters also liked the smell of me, but for different reasons. The Western Alpha, Declan Thomas, had told me I brought out his protective urges the same way females of his pack did. Whatever his previous feelings, it was unlikely Declan still felt protective toward me. He probably hated me as much as Adam did.
Focusing on Charlie, I said, “Tell me again why you suspect this woman is linked to the other missing women.”
He nodded, gratitude flashing in his eyes. Like my dad, his forte was hard facts and solving the puzzles they created. Personal talk was awkward at best.
“She was reported missing this morning by her boyfriend, Derrick Sommers, after she didn’t show for dinner with his parents last night and couldn’t be located.” My brows went up and he clarified, “Not in itself suspicious, I know, but it popped on my radar because her description matches that of our other missing women, Gretchen Kline and Sabrina Davis.”
“Ah.”
He lifted the yellow tape and gestured me into the apartment. I ducked inside and looked around a typical young woman’s living space. A hormonal tornado had hit and left clothes, shoes, and accessories strewn throughout, from the tiny kitchenette to the single bed to the postage-stamp closet.
In spite of the mess, it didn’t have the feel of a ransacked space. Within the chaos was a barely perceivable order, reminding me of long-ago days when weekend plans and boyfriends’ parents were my highest priorities. Through the lens of youth it looked very much like Tiffany had tried on every outfit she owned in search of the perfect one.
I stood transfixed, feeling like a voyeur, until Charlie said, “Boyfriend said the mess was typical. Neighbor down the hall confirmed it was like this when she stopped by for a visit around three p.m. yesterday. She stayed for twenty minutes and reported nothing out of the ordinary, although Tiffany received a phone call. The call was ignored. We’re pulling phone records.”
His clipped report reminded me of the countless times I’d been a sounding board for my dad. “Was she seen leaving the building?” I asked.
Charlie nodded. “Exited at four-thirty, alone, presumably on her way to meet the boyfriend.” He pointed at the top of the white dresser, where a framed photograph was almost obscured by a tower of jewelry. “This photo is why we called the Prime’s office.”
I squinted at the tiny group shot. “Spell it out for me.”
Troubled eyes met mine. “The other missing women are in the photograph with her.”
My gaze snapped back to the picture. There were four women total, dressed scantily in glitzy club wear. The background was mostly unclear, but looked like either a hotel lobby or the entryway of a swanky mansion.
All blond, all roughly the same height. They weren’t carbon copies, but had the sunny look of California girls and longtime friends.
“Is that . . .?” I pointed to the central figure.
“Yes. Daphne Banks, daughter of Steven Banks.”
I wasn’t a detective, but it didn’t take one to connect the dots. “You’re thinking she’s next?”
Charlie’s nod was closer to a twitch. “I reached out to the Bankses today to set up a meeting. They haven’t returned my call.”
Which wasn’t surprising given Steven Banks’ Hollywood status and his reputation for thinking himself above the law. He probably had a standing order for his assistant to ignore correspondence from law enforcement.
I took another look around the room and finally shook my head. “Sorry, Charlie. I’ve been, er, examining the vibes of the place since we got here. No residual auras or magical resonance. I’m not sure what your mages picked up on, but I don’t sense it.”
Not only did I not sense the resonance he’d mentioned on the phone, I realized with growing trepidation that I couldn’t sense anything.
Lola had reentered the apartment and was standing near the door. Charlie was less than three feet away. Unlike mages, whose auras were visible and colorful, vampire and shifter auras had sensory impact. Neither detective was a supernatural heavyweight, but something wasn’t right. There was no tickle on my skin from Lola, no pulse from Charlie. Their auras, both of which I’d sensed just fine in the hallway, were nonexistent.
Alarm bells started ringing in my head.
I said stiffly, “We have a problem.”
“What?” asked Charlie.
“This apartment has been completely wiped. It’s like a dead zone—no magic, no auras, nothing.” I looked hard at Charlie. “But you already knew that.”
He and Lola traded a glance. “Yes. We knew. There’s nothing to smell, either.”
“And your crime scene mages? They didn’t sense anything, did they? Or find fingerprints, DNA?”
He at least had the grace to look guilty. “No. Do you think it’s alchemy? It’s such a new field, this is potentially our first time dealing with it.”
I barely kept my mouth closed on You’d better fucking hope not. It was a hard call who I hated more, alchemists or the Fae.
When Ascension activated dormant genetic codes in our brains, roughly 18 percent of the population became ciphers. Because of their lack of demonstrative power, ciphers were at the bottom of the supernatural pecking order. Inevitably, not all of them were okay with that.
Enter alchemy, the practice of extracting ether—the essence of a supernatural’s power—from blood. A group of ciphers calling themselves the Liberati were the forerunners of the science. Their alchemists used ether to empower magical tools, mainly instruments of torture and deadly weapons. Last year, a master alchemist had taken my ether, but not from my blood. He’d retrofitted an electric chair and strapped me to it.
My memory flashed briefly on a glowing crystal ball with a writhing crimson snake inside. I’d seen whatever destructive force was in that snake take out the wall of a house and injure both Connor and Adam, two of the most powerful supernaturals in the world.
In my brief time dealing with them, the Liberati had killed hundreds of people in their quest for power. Maybe there were peaceful alchemists in the world, but all the ones I’d met were crazy terrorists.
A massive headache was galloping my way.
I looked back at the photograph of the women. “I can’t say for certain this is alchemy. It could be the work of a mage. They’d have to be good enough to embed the spell in something innocuous and somehow get Tiffany to bring it home.” I glanced the dresser. “A piece of jewelry, a pack of gum. Something.”
I really hoped it wasn’t alchemy.
Lola said mutedly, “Told you we should work the mage angle first.”
Before Charlie could reply, I said, “There aren’t many who can pull off a spell like this. You’re looking for an Emerald, maybe, but more likely Sapphire.”
He nodded reflectively. “Agreed. I’ll get a list of registered Sapphires living or traveling in the area. There can’t be that many.”
“And if they haven’t registered?” I asked, knowing my uncle couldn’t be the only high level mage who hated rules and regulations.
“One step at a time,” he said tiredly.
I nodded. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help. If there’s nothing else . . .” I inched across the apartment, bent on escape. I needed something for my headache, and Mal wanted me to put in a few hours behind the bar tonight. Then I had a date with a sleeping pill.
As I neared the door, Charlie said, “One more question. Will you ride along when I get that interview with the Banks girl?”
I blinked in surprise. “Why?”
The answer came from Lola, her dark eyes gleaming. “The FBI is circling, ready to swoop in if we don’t catch a break in the next twenty-four hours. If you’re working with us, it’s as good as saying the Prime has taken a personal interest. It might keep them at bay a while longer.”
Her words were a sharp reminder that as far as the world knew, the Prime and I were still chummy. But if my involvement put a thorn in the FBI’s side, I wasn’t going to correct the press.
“I’ll be there.”
Charlie looked up from his cell phone. “Good, because I just got a message that Steven Banks is going to meet with us. Along with his daughter.”
I interpreted his tight, remorseless grin. “You told them the Elemental wanted to meet with them, didn’t you?”
“Every tool in the toolbox.”
My dad had said that a lot, too, back when they’d been partners.
I considered my options, which were walk away right now or commit. A glance at the photograph made up my mind.