by Eli Constant
Mordecai goes to speak again, but Terrance holds up a hand. “It’s illegal to have the stuff. Period, Mordecai. You did your time. You’re out on probation.”
“An' Ah cannae make a livin' coz nobody wants tae hae an ex-convict mince their beloved pets. Ah hauld ye accoontable fur 'at.” The muscles in Mordecai’s arms flex. Terrance holds his ground. I only take a step back… because I can feel the fire again, in his eyes and running through his veins.
I tune Terrance’s response out as Liam comes to life in my head again.
What the humans don’t realize is that Djinn Juice is actually ‘Djinn’ juice. Or blood, rather. Liam is the teacher in my head.
What do you mean?
It’s illegal now, but for a long time in preternatural history, Djinns or genies were hunted down for their blood. Too much is a near-fatal poison. Just the right amount and your reality will shift. Your world will turn upside down and everything will be terrifying and intriguing. Once it’s out of your system, you’ll return to normal, but you’ll never be the same. It’s worse than your drugs like heroin. You don’t just get addicted. You begin to think the Djinn-induced psychosis is the real world and everything else is the illusion. It goes into your soul and exploits your deepest desires.
Sounds like some pretty wild stuff.
Just take me at my word when I say that, yes, it is.
I’ve been lost to the conversation in my head for a moment. When I come back to the present, Mordecai and Terrance are having themselves a good old fashion western showdown. Without the guns, thank god. Although, Terrance looks like he’s seconds away from drawing.
Chapter Eighteen
“Wait a minute, boys. There’s no reason to whip ’em out and measure. We can all act like civilized adults here.” I place myself between the circling men, holding my hands out and palms up. Mordecai has called upon his illusion to make himself just shy of five feet. Terrance has his hands hovering above his gun, the holster unsnapped. My toe hits something on the ground that rustles, but I can’t look. No, I have to focus on the testosterone-bleeding duo of man-gry idiots pretending that this is the O.K. Corral. Just peachy.
“Ah willnae be called a liar onie mair. Sellin' a bit ay ginger. he acts loch i've gain an' murrdad th' whole toon. Ah deserve mair respect. mair feckin' respect.” Mordecai’s blood nearly burns me when I reach out with my power. It’s like lava from a volcano. It makes sense, given dwarf origins. But, god, it burns. More than I expected.
“You need to calm down, Mordecai. I’m the law. I’m doing my job.” Terrance’s fingers flex, so close to his gun that it wouldn’t take him more than a second or two to draw. I’ve seen him. He’s fast. He’s trying to teach me to be that fast. I don’t think I ever will be though. He was born to be a cop. I wasn’t.
“Aam dain wi' bein' calm. Ye come tae mah hoose. Ye treat me loch feckin' scum ay th' earth. Nae mair.”
Just as Mordecai lifts his hands to strike—and it would have been a killing blow had he landed the magically-charged muscle against Goodman’s body—I pull his blood to me. This time, I do not know who it hurts more, me or Mordecai.
I scream, falling to my knees, but still holding his blood inside me. I pull it, cell by cell, out of him until his face goes ash white once more. He crumples to the ground, clutching at his chest, clawing at his throat.
He feels what it is like to die.
And I feel what it is like to kill.
I cradle his molten hot blood inside of me. I feel the power it will grant me if I keep it. I love it.
It’s intoxicating.
It’s rum and whiskey and wine.
A hand on my shoulder makes me jump, pulls me away from murderous thoughts. Terrance’s hand. “You okay, Tori?”
I nod slowly.
“Good, then stop whatever you’re doing, will ya? We sort of need him alive to speak.”
With a gasp, I release the blood. I was going to kill him. I was going to kill him. And it would have been so easy.
I can taste his blood still, the volcanic onyx of it. The metallic sweetness. The earthy undertone. I want it back. Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me?
Blood magic and death magic are a powerful combination. Liam’s voice comes softly into my head. Something about the way he says it makes the guilt more poignant. I almost killed a man.
“You all right, Mordecai?” Terrance is bent down, helping the dwarf—now regular size again—to his feet.
“Don’t touch me.” Mordecai pulls away, his human affected voice back in play. “I’m fine. Ask me your damn questions and go.”
I look down at my feet then, remembering the rustle from moments ago—moments ago that now feel like another lifetime, a life where I would have never been tempted by the power, by the blood. At least, not in the manner that would lead to a man’s death.
The contents of the manila folder is spread out at my feet.
A photo of Maggie is on top. Well, not Maggie, but her body. The shell that used to house who she was.
I bend down and push all the papers back into the folder, trying not to focus on the bones and remnants of the simple dress with the drop waist. The men are silent. Mordecai has moved to sit on the second rise of the porch stairs. Terrance is leaning against the banister.
When the silence lengthens, I decide to end it.
“Mordecai, someone is… kidnapping women and,” I find I can’t find the words. I wanted to end the silence, but I cannot speak. I don’t want to say what’s been happening. Even though I’ve faced it in reality. I walk forward, file in hand, and I simply hand it over. Mordecai’s fingers close around the khaki paper with some hesitation.
When he flips it open, his eyelids part wider, his face falls in what can only be described as horror. He is not our killer. I know it instantly.
Besides, I realize, I would have felt the murder in his blood. It’s a talent of mine.
“He didn’t do it, Terrance.” My eyes find my friend’s face and there’s exhaustion in my voice. I wanted it to be this Mordecai, the creepy taxidermist on the edge of town. It would have been movie picture-perfect. Clean and simple. But nothing in life is easy like that.
“Fuck. You thought I did this, Goodman? Selling fake drugs makes me a damn murderer now? Get off my land.” Mordecai hands the file back with shaking hands. “Get off my fucking land now.” There’s the slightest hint of the brogue in his voice now, but it’s so faint that a person would only hear it if they were trying to.
“If any evidence points to you, I’ll—” Terrance is cut off by Mordecai standing and advancing down the stairs.
“Get. Off. My. Land.” Mordecai is trying to call the power again, but it’s flickering, like dying candlelight.
He needs to replenish. Liam sounds in my head. He’ll go to ground for a while. It’s been a long time, I think, since this dwarf King has had to use his powers.
“Don’t leave town, Mordecai.”
“I don’t ever leave, Chief Goodman. It’s part of my parole. Or did you forget that little detail?” Mordecai has slumped against the banister at the top of his porch’s stairs. He’s pale again, like I am once more pulling his blood to me. I’m not though. Liam is right. He has exhausted himself.
“Just had to say it.” Terrance’s voice climbs over his shoulder as he walks away to open the cruiser’s driver’s side door. “Just had to say it.”
I go to follow Terrance, but I turn around abruptly. “Your Highness, I apologize for meeting this way.” I bow; this time it is a larger, more obvious motion. “Thank you for your time. I hope we meet again, under better circumstances.”
“It is I who should bow to you, Blood Queen. However, it is not my hope that we meet again.” He pushes himself away from the support of the railing and he moves further into the shadows of the porch to disappear into the shelter of his home.
When we’re pulling away from his house, the rear wheels skidding in the messy drive, Terrance rubs the back of his neck. A signature move w
hen he’s stressed. “You sure he didn’t do it, Tori?”
“Positive.” I nod, my mouth in a hard line. “And that means the killer is still out there and we have no clue, no freaking clue who he is.” Or she, I mentally fill in. But it’s hard for me to think a woman could do this to other women.
“Can you tell me how you know?”
“It’s very… necromancy-ish.” I mumble. “I’ve no idea how to actually tell you aside from saying his blood didn’t feel like a killer’s. Not even a little bit. I don’t think Mordecai Jones has so much as killed a fly in his life. He might do drugs, but that’s about as nefarious as he gets.”
“He’s not human, is he?”
“No, he’s not.”
We ride in silence the rest of the way. He doesn’t take me straight home, but instead to a little coffee shop in town. It’s not the best joe in town, but it’s passable and the scones are just this side of brilliant. Especially the blueberry ones.
A familiar face greets me as we push through the glass doors. Mr. Barrington is picking apart a buttermilk biscuit, his tea cold enough that no steam billows from the top of the chipped, white mug.
“Terrance, order me a cappuccino and a blueberry scone, will you?”
He turns to me inquisitively and I tilt my head in the direction of Mr. Barrington. “Ah. Sure.”
I leave Terrance in line, waiting for the brunette with the high ponytail—I’ve seen her before… I think her name is Shanna—to turn around and take his order.
“Allen?” I say his name softly when I’m several feet from his booth. The powder blue and cream vinyl of the bench seat is covered in spider web cracks, but they do not go through and compromise the filling. “Allen?” I say his name once more and he looks at me, his gaze unfocused and his thoughts far away from this little café and this little town.
“Oh, Ms. Cage. How nice to see you.” His voice is distant, in some other space and time. It floats back to Earth, like a falling star.
“It’s good to see you too, Allen. Are you staying in town?”
He points at the bench on the other side and invites me to sit down. I do. “No. I drove back this morning to visit with my Timothy again. Your coroner here has been very gracious, to let me see him two days in a row.”
“Doug’s a good guy.”
“He is.”
I jump a little when slender hands crowned with bright pink fingernails, set a warm scone and foamy coffee in front of me. “Thanks so much,” I look up, see a name tag. I’d been close. The girls name is Shannon, not Shanna. “Shannon.”
“No problem. Chief said he was going to have his in the car and to take your time.” Her voice is good cheesecake smooth, more mature than her looks would make one expect. She walks away and when she turns, I see that her apron is tight around her abdomen. There’s a small mountain there. She’s pregnant. And now, looking closely, I see a small band of silver around her ring finger. Funny, I’ve seen her several times, and I always took her for a high school girl.
“Allen, can I ask you some questions?”
“Of course.” He picks up a crumbled piece of biscuit and puts it in his mouth. The look on his face as he chews tells me that it tasted as dry as it looked. “Ask me anything.” He pushes the plate away.
“You told me a little bit about the dynamic between Timothy and your ex-wife. Were they still in contact after the divorce?” I take a sip of the cappuccino. It is deliciously hot, the kind of heat that burns your tongue and instantly sends your senses into ‘wake up’ mode. After the burn wears off though, I can taste the bitterness of a machine that needs a thorough cleaning before the next brewing.
“Not often, but yes, they still saw one another. Mostly at the holidays. I told you Tess was young, younger than me by fifteen years. She remarried quite fast. Her boss, actually. A reconstructive surgeon with a practice in Georgetown. He’s the best in the state actually. I wonder if they were together before our split. There are only so many times your wife can tell you that she has to stay late to file before you start to get suspicious. Every time I’d take Timothy to the practice there, I’d have to really hold my tongue to not get into it with Tess.”
“When they were in contact, did they get along? I mean, were things better than they were before?” I’m focusing on the mother’s relationship with her son, but I also feel like I’m missing something. Something important.
Allen shook his head slowly, his eyes glazing over. “No, he called me upset after most of their visits. He wanted to be accepted by her so badly. The worst was the last Christmas he spent with her. He brought Darnell along and she could not understand how he could associate with a male identity and then fall in love with a male. She said it was more evidence that he was wrong, that he should go back to being what he was according to his physical body. A female.”
“How has she been since Timothy disappeared? How’s she taking the news that he’s… been found?” I stumble over the last two words. Timothy wasn’t found. He was gone. And his body was frozen, holding secrets to what happened to him.
“Yesterday was the first time Tess and I have spoken since the day he disappeared.”
I take a bite of scone, stewing on this information. “Isn’t it strange that her child could disappear and she’d not be somewhat concerned and frantic? Regardless whether she agreed with Timothy’s choices, she would still grieve for the daughter she knew, wouldn’t she?”
“I’ve given up trying to understand Tess.” He picks up another piece of crumbled biscuit, shifting the plate further away from him after he starts chewing and remembering how dry it was the first time.
“What did she say yesterday when you told her?” I focus on my scone, slowly pulling off another piece and tossing it into my mouth. The berries are plump and sweet and they make my mouth water.
“She said,” he stops talking and I look up from my pastry to find tears streaming down his face. He swallows, picks up a wrinkled white napkin from the table and wipes his face. “She said that her daughter died a long time ago.”
I reach across the table and wrap both of my hands around his thin forearms, which are now folded across his body, hugging himself, trying to keep it together. I squeeze softly, trying to show support, but I feel anything I might do to give him comfort would be useless. Too little.
“Allen, may I have Tess’s contact information? I think it’s important that Chief Goodman talks to her.”
He nods, reaching for a clean napkin from the chrome holder next to the standing, colorful dessert menu. A pen emerges from the inner pocket of his tweed sports coat. He slides the napkin over to me when he is done. His writing is shaky, but thick and bold.
“As soon as Doug gives me the go, I’ll set a new date for the funeral, Allen. Were you able to make arrangements to preserve Rosemary?” I say the dog’s name and get a little lightbulb over my head. “I know a taxidermist outside town if you’d like to take her there for preservation? Or if you bring her by the funeral home, I can place her in the temperature-controlled room?”
“That would be wonderful, Ms. Cage. I’ve been keeping her in the deep freezer at home.” He smiles, just the smallest upturn of his lips that makes the tears roll in different directions down his cheeks. “Darnell opened it the other day and screamed. I forgot to warn him that she was out there when I sent him to get the frozen peas.”
Frozen veggies and a dog’s corpse. Not a combination I plan to have on my dinner table any time soon.
Chapter Nineteen
Thursday comes and goes. The county sent over Mrs. Leeds body. She smelled. Not just the normal death smell where bowels have loosened and urine has seeped into clothing and dried. She smells like years of neglect, like no one has been around to care for her in her weakest moments. She’s ready now, looking as well as I can make her, in the discount, banged-up coffin waiting for a discount funeral. No one cared for her in life, but I could care for her in death.
She will be buried in the ground with only mysel
f and Max and Dean as witnesses. At least her soul was long gone. She must have been more than ready to leave this life.
Sometimes I worry I will become a Mrs. Leeds. I shake, fold my arms across my chest and knit myself back together one emotion at a time.
And then strong arms wrap around my body and further glue me together. “You okay?” Kyle’s voice murmurs throatily, his lips pressed near my ear, his face nestling gently against my hair. “You look like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
“Not the whole world.” I whisper, leaning back into his body, letting the warmth of him calm me down.
“Goodman will find out who’s doing this, Tori. You need to let it go for a while, try and relax.”
“It’s hard to relax when someone’s out there murdering women and treating them like disposable toys, Kyle.”
“You’re going to drive yourself nuts over this, babe.”
Kyle has never called me babe before and I don’t like it. Not even a little bit. It’s one of those icky couple nicknames that I’ve always refused to use with my boyfriends. “I hate babe. And baby. Honey is something you put on toast. And I only call kids Sweetie.” My tone is snippy, not nice. I immediately feel the need to apologize.
Turning around in his arms, I kiss his neck. Little dainty whispers of lips against his skin that has a first brush of new hair that needs trimming. “Sorry, I’m in a shitty mood.”
“You have every right to be.” He strokes my hair, his fingers getting tangled towards the bottom. “Let’s at least concentrate on something else. Like me. The living, breathing, antiquated Viking warrior.”
“Yeah, about that.” I shuffle my feet, look down at the small gap between our bodies, and then push away, suddenly uncomfortable. “I’ve been wanting to really talk about what Liam told us. About you being drawn to me because of what you are and what I am. I don’t feel like… we’ve thought about this enough.”
“Tori?” He says my name like a question and quirks an eyebrow. His face is thoughtful and curious now. “I told you none of that matters. None of it.” He stops talking for a moment, his eyebrow falling back into place like a lazy caterpillar. “But you feel differently? Bad different or good?”