Touching Evil (The Leila Marx Novels Book 1)

by Amber Garr

  Temporarily giving in to my annoying artist’s block and growing curiosity, I decided to search the web. I wanted to see what I could learn about the interesting group of people I met tonight. Up first, the cambion. I vaguely remember reading about incubi and other types of demons in fantasy books when I was younger. Likewise, numerous variations of supernaturals have been depicted in art and religion throughout the ages, but I never thought for one minute that beings like that existed. I wasn’t a religious person. I respected the ideas that there were greater forces out there, but never committed myself to one belief or another. Obviously my opinions needed to change.

  Entering the word cambion in the search box directed me to a variety of online encyclopedias. I chose the paranormal and supernatural ones first. Yes, they existed. As I filtered through the variety of information, several points were unanimous within the different reference pages. Cambions were indeed the product of a an incubus demon father and a human mother. Although the way this conception occurred was debated amongst texts old and new, no one argued their existence. Incubi, and the female succubae, could appear in any form appealing to their victim to aid in their seduction. If a human female conceived, she always died during childbirth. Cambions had angelic good looks, a knack for controlling situations, and a cunning way with words. These were part of the paternal genetic line, but I couldn’t help note they were also skills valuable to lawyers.

  There wasn’t much more to read about cambions, as it seemed they aren’t very common and were hard to identify. A few references hinted at a life stuck in servitude to the demons, but others implied the opposite. I began to write down my list of questions that one day I would ask Conner. Maybe if he knew I did some “reliable” online research, he’d be more willing to fill in the blanks. Perhaps I would even be able to talk to him about the vision I saw of the red eyes, pointy teeth, and utter disgust he seemed to feel when looking at his reflection.

  Changing subjects, I moved next to the vampires. As expected, there were pages and pages of information. I wrote down the basics: created not born, drinks blood, no sunlight, superhuman strength, immortality, susceptible to a stake in the heart. Then I tried to apply all of those characteristics to Gallus. While I thought he’d been intimidating before, I now knew he was downright terrifying. What had Elise said? That he was at least a few centuries old? I wondered what it would be like, living through all of that history. Surviving everyone you ever loved. It made me wonder what would happen to him when Elise died. I suddenly felt sad for the big bad vampire.

  Werewolves also had their fair share of descriptions and homage in the arts. It wasn’t clear if a werewolf could be made or if they were born, probably because the people contributing to these websites really didn’t believe they actually existed. Little did they know.

  While reading about some of the similarities between werewolves and higher animal predators such as the big cats and bears, I had a thought. Last night, King told me I smelled. Later on he appeared to be aware of my internal reaction to the love between Elise and Gallus. According to biologists, these apex predators were attuned to body language and slight changes in scent when emotions were strong, particularly fear. I’d been on edge when I noticed King, and he’d smelled my fear. His odd behavior began to make sense.

  Likewise, King was a street informant with a pretty fantastic track record. Well, no wonder. I’ll bet King was a better scent tracker than any of the police dogs. Plus he could mingle with the humans relatively unnoticed. Even though he still gave me the heebie-jeebies, I hoped that the BPD would put him on the payroll. I could appreciate how useful it would be to have him working on any case of mine.

  Witches and sorcerers had an interesting history. Deriving from the same group as wizards and warlocks, they were typically considered to be anyone who had the natural ability to conjure magic. It made them similar to me, in that their talents were genetically inherited and not obtained elsewhere. Typically this came from the maternal line and often skipped generations. The practicing Wiccans were no more witch than me, they just had a healthy respect for the unknown.

  A hierarchy existed amongst witches and sorcerers, and I wasn’t quite sure if the terminology distinguished males from females. More questions got added to my list. What I did learn was that magic was considered to be the only way to conjure and control a demon, and that made me think about Conner again. I wondered if his half demon blood made him susceptible to the two magic users in the group. He mentioned the rules were different for him, but he was also uneasy around everyone. Question number thirty seven made it on my list.

  Since Elise had briefly discussed her talents, and Terez had spoken of mediums before, I wasn’t surprised to see that there were a lot of collaborating points of view about the ghost whisperers. Of course, in searching for mediums, numerous personal websites popped up advertising a chance to contact a long lost loved one. It was kind of similar to psychics. No doubt there were hundreds of fakes out there trying to make a buck off of grieving family members. But just as was the case for the psychics, I’m sure there were a few genuine mediums as well.

  I hadn’t forgotten about Elise’s offer to try and contact Russ. It’d been stewing in the back of my mind all night. Reading about the long life of vampires and the ability of magic users to conjure otherworldly beings, made me think that speaking to him one more time was a small favor in the grand scheme of the unknown. I didn’t know what I would say to him. He died a chaotic death and anyone who was murdered would be classified as such. Terez had often hinted that the soul’s unease after such a tragedy caused varying reactions in the spirit world. I never put much stake in the belief of an afterlife, but Elise implied those spirits must go someplace where she can’t make contact. If Russ was traumatized from his death, than I wouldn’t want to torture him anymore?

  Barclay McAlister Donahue was a fairy. But he didn’t seem to embody the type of fairy most storytellers envisioned. He wasn’t a tiny, winged mythical creature that would bite and couldn’t lie. Well, I guess I didn’t know about those last two characteristics for sure. From what I could tell, there were a variety of myths revolving around fae and where they came from. Nothing seemed to match what Elise told me about the human sexuality side, yet facts don’t always make for great fiction.

  He mentioned he was a Warrior of Swords. Again, I could find no reference to this online. What was interesting is that most stories insinuate fairies are sensitive to iron. If Mac’s kryptonite was iron, he would have a very difficult time existing in the modern world. I assigned that characteristic as a myth for now.

  Adding another ten questions to my ever-growing Ask the Supernaturals list, I decided that my brain was done for the day. Besides, I needed to get my driver’s license replaced, and I knew that I would need all of the energy in the world to deal with the aliens at the DMV tomorrow.

  Before leaving in the morning, Garrick called me asking if I could come to the station to answer more questions about the train accident. So much had happened since then, I’d forgotten that someone had tried to kill us. Was this attempt on our lives related to the case? Was I the target or was Garrick? Remembering my attack at lunch when I thought I saw Jake Montgomery, I began to question my involvement. If I didn’t know better, I might think that I was the focus. I’m a clairvoyant illustrator. Why would anyone want to kill me?

  I passed off all thoughts of my demise and completed my errands. The new cell phone was an upgrade and the trip to the DMV was surprisingly uneventful and efficient. Now I would have to wait for my credit cards to arrive in the mail, and I decided that I could live without the rest of the things that were in my purse. It was a small purse.

  The police station looked the same as it did a few days ago. The high numbers of cops leaving the building, coincided with lunch time. I was a little earlier than Garrick had planned, but didn’t want to waste time driving around.

  The third floor shuttered with chaos when I stepped through the elevators. Something big
was going on. Phones rang, people were hustled around, and although I’d witnessed the uniformed officers leaving for lunch, the plain clothes detectives weren’t going anywhere. I made my way to the conference room without being noticed.

  In the far back corner near their desks, I saw Garrick and Detective Sherwood speaking to another pair of detectives. I’d encountered them before but couldn’t recall their names. Taking in the situation, I decided to wait until an opportunity presented itself to announce my presence.

  The detectives and their teams organized into small working groups. A large dry erase board had been wheeled into the conference room and it was filled with lists and tasks, prioritizing their efforts. An enlarged photo of a teenage girl was taped to the side of the board. My heart dropped when I feared I knew what was going on.

  Searching the room to see if King was here, someone called my name.

  “Leila,” Garrick said, “There’s been a change in plans. Another girl has been kidnapped, and the press already knows about it.” He looked anxious and distraught, and I instantly wanted to figure out a way to comfort him. “It’s bad,” he continued. “She’s the mayor’s daughter and he didn’t waste any time making this public.”

  The mayor’s daughter? This was bad. “How long has she been missing?” I asked.

  “She was abducted last night, but we got the phone call only an hour ago.” He rubbed his stubble in the familiar way. “The boss wants everyone on this. I was going to head over to her house now. I think this is more pressing than answering questions about the train. Can you come with me?”

  Surprised that he wanted to get me involved with such a high profile case, I asked, “Are you sure it will be okay with everyone?”

  “I was told to utilize every resource, and that’s what I intend to do.” His response seemed rehearsed and I knew he was wary of the repercussions. “Let me grab my coat. You can ride with Danny and me.”

  Before I could protest, the three of us walked out the back exit to the parking lot and unmarked vehicles. No one spoke until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I moved to the center of the backseat and leaned forward between the two frustrated men.

  “Can you tell me anything more about the kidnapping? Do you think it’s related to the other three?” The detectives shared a look between them that I couldn’t interpret. Detective Sherwood spoke first.

  “Yeah, we do. There’s been no ransom call, she’s within the same age range as the other victims, and she was abducted right out of her bedroom.” He sounded defeated.

  “The mayor has top of the line security in his house. No one knows how someone could get in and back out again without tripping the alarms,” Garrick added.

  I thought back to my impromptu meeting of the minds last night. Suddenly, beating a security system didn’t seem so impossible. Utilizing supernatural skills or magical talents would not be a lead the police would examine.

  “What about the cameras?” I asked. “I would imagine he has them, right?”

  “Disabled,” Sherwood grunted. “Disabled without any signal being sent to the company. Apparently they were working one second, and recording static the next.” He sighed loudly and turned the volume up on the scanner, indicating that we were finished with this conversation.

  The drive was tense and silent aside from sporadic chattering over the scanner, so I tried to occupy my time by watching the scenery. I knew we were on the outskirts of the city, but it was an area I wasn’t too familiar with. Within twenty minutes, large trees and grand estates surrounded us. The oversized plantation-like homes sat far back from the road, protected by electronic gate access.

  There was no mistaking which house belonged to the mayor. News vans, camera crews, police vehicles, and curious onlookers littered the quaint street. Detective Sherwood muttered something in disgust and Garrick continued to move through the formidable crowd at a crawl. Eventually we made it to the front gate, and after a few words and calls on the radio, we drove inside. Several reporters tried to tag along with the car in the few seconds they stole to squeeze through the gate. I watched in awe as the security agents forcefully reminded them to remain outside. What a circus.

  The circular driveway was filled with unmarked police cars and official state and city vehicles. Garrick parked near a ceramic fountain delineating the center of the round-about. More than twice my height, it had a chubby little angels happily spewing a stream from its round lips. The trickling of the water almost drowned out the crowd at the gate. It must normally be so peaceful here. The white two-story brick house boasted several large windows, perfectly matching dark green shutters, and a barrage of forensic personnel. The windows on the second floor to the left seemed to be the primary area of focus. That must be her room.

  “What’s her name?” I asked.

  “Angela Stillwater,” Garrick replied. He noticed where my attention was and glanced toward her room. Before we could continue our talk, a loud commotion erupted at the front door. Detective Sherwood hustled out behind a short, stout man who only had eyes for me.

  “She is not allowed to come inside.” The guy looked sharply at Garrick. “Pearson! I specifically told you not to bring her. What were you thinking? If the D.A. catches wind of this--”

  “Sir,” Garrick interrupted. “If she can give us even one clue as to where they’ve taken her, then don’t you think we should let her try?”

  “What harm can it do, Lieutenant?” asked Detective Sherwood. He was talking to their boss’ boss, Lieutenant Baer. This wasn’t good.

  Without even looking in his direction he chided, “I’m not speaking to you, Sherwood.” He turned his attention to me. “If you take so much as one step into that house, I will have you arrested for obstructing an investigation.”

  I accepted skeptics, but did not like people yelling at me. “There’s no need to be nasty, Lieutenant. I’m not here to cause any trouble,” I managed to say that without my voice cracking.

  “Yeah? Well, you won’t even get a chance.” He turned Garrick around to face the car, and pushed a finger against his chest. “I need you inside, otherwise I’d send you home too. Make her stay in the car or it’s your ass, understand?” He started to stomp away. “Yours too,” he yelled at Sherwood before getting lost in a mob of uniformed police again.

  “My, isn’t he pleasant,” I said since no one wanted to break the tension. Some of the other personnel stared at us, and I refused to feel like a scorned child in front of them.

  “Leila…” Garrick began.

  I shook my head and tried to grin. “It’s all right, Garrick. I don’t want to cause any trouble and I certainly don’t want to delay this case.” I looked back at the fountain and the awaiting car behind it. “I can stay outside. Really, it’s not a problem.”

  Both detectives seemed to weigh the pros and cons of disobeying a direct order. I wasn’t going to let them risk it. “Go,” I said. “Just tell me what you find when you’re finished.”

  “I’ll do better than that,” Garrick promised. “I’m going to get you something from her room. It worked for Erin. Maybe it will work for Angela too.”

  Except that it had been too late for Erin. Before I could discourage him, they were gone. I didn’t want to call them back. No need to draw any more attention to myself. I glanced at the door, only to find Lieutenant Baer glaring back at me. I smiled then turned around to walk back to the car.

  I sat by the angel fountain, did laps around the circular drive, and paced throughout the vast front yard for an hour. No one spoke to me, evidently under direct orders to avoid me like the plague. It annoyed me at first, then I got mad at myself for not driving my own car again. Eventually my thoughts raced through images of Erin’s kidnapping, the weird sensations I’d felt around Jake Montgomery, and the cluster of supernatural information I learned last night. I needed to decide if I wanted to go to the Wednesday meeting of the Otherworldly Club.

  When I saw Erin’s father crumple beside his daughter’s gravesite, I could
relate. Sitting next to Russ as he took his last breath, not being able to do anything about it, caused me agony I couldn’t comprehend. Although knowing it was not in my control, I’d vowed that no one should ever have to feel like that. I promised to help the Montgomerys and at the same time heal myself. If collaborating with a group of supernaturals was the way I needed to help solve this case, then I would do it. Before I could change my mind, I called Conner’s office and asked the secretary to have him text me the directions. Cryptic, but he would know what I meant, and I could postpone a vocal conversation at least one more day.

  As soon as I hung up the phone, the detectives came back outside. This time, no one chased after them or yelled at me. We all got in the car without speaking and drove hastily down the driveway. Getting out of the estate was a quicker process than getting in, and we were soon free from the media spectacle and on our way back to the station. Or so I thought.

  Garrick didn’t get on the highway as expected and instead turned into a county park. He drove through the winding lane, to the back where we stopped at a picnic area at the end of a cul-de-sac. Both detectives turned in their seats to look at me. The older one spoke first.

  “Garrick broke the law for you today.”

  “No, I didn’t. I simply collected evidence.” Detective Sherwood gave him a stern look and Garrick dropped his eyes. “Forensics had finished in that part of the room.” His partner’s glare did not flinch. “She can help us. Am I supposed to forget that?”

  After a few moments of hesitation, Sherwood replied, “No. You’re not. We can use all of the help we can get.” He sighed and made a move to get out of the car. “Let’s go over there.”

  Obediently we followed him to the smallest pavilion set back from the road. Underneath sat one picnic table, one tiny park grill, and enough room around each to fit under cover of the metal roof. Detective Sherwood leaned against the near side of the table, forcing Garrick and I to sit down on opposite sides. When we were settled, Garrick passed me a clump of material.