Broken Elements (Elements, Book 1)

by Mia Marshall

  Sera and I continued to practice my control. We moved the fire pit off the deck, placing it well away from the house—keeping both the house safe and sparing Mac any third degree burns he might acquire by sitting in the wrong place. I would attempt to douse every flame she created, and then Vivian would get to work. And so I began an unorthodox and very public counseling session. Everyone learned about my mother and my ancestors, on the elemental side at least, and how I’d grown up with the constant insistence that my humanity was negligible. My mother had always assured me that my affinity for water was the only thing I needed to define me. Vivian asked question after question about my life. I couldn’t answer most of them, but I felt them circle my subconscious, whispering and repeating the most essential questions anyone can ask themselves. Who was I? Who did I want to be?

  After days of exhausting practice, I was no closer to control. It didn’t matter how many childhood issues I faced or how determinedly I confronted my memories of the warehouse. We’d spent enough hours on those topics that, if she was actually my therapist, I would have owed her a small car in compensation for all her work. No matter what we did, I could not reconcile my two halves. I was a powerful water, but only until I became emotional. Then, my abilities seemed to vanish altogether. I was beginning to fear my success with the house fire had been a fluke.

  It was so easy to forget why I was there. These people had found their way into my life, slipping into the cracks that first appeared when Sera held my hand on Chris’s grave. I had forgotten the way Brian could remove every fear and doubt with a quick hug, a wink, and a splash of whiskey. I had forgotten the extent to which I was defined by Sera, the way our senses of humor had developed to better play off each other or the way we knew exactly whose turn it was to talk and whose to listen. I hadn’t foreseen the extent to which I’d learn to appreciate Simon’s focused and contradictory nature, or the quiet competence and compassion Vivian brought to her every action. And I found myself waiting for the next time Mac’s gaze would fall on me, with its heart-stopping mix of sly humor and quiet strength, so that I never knew whether I wanted to tease him or curl up next to him, and I wasn’t sure which prospect was more appealing—or more terrifying.

  Quite simply, in the midst of a manhunt for a killer that had confounded us at every turn, and who had a disconcerting interest in me personally, I was truly happy for the first time since the night at the warehouse. Of course, it couldn’t last.

  With so little new information, Josiah stayed away for a full two weeks. There was nothing for him to do here, and he despised being away from the Hawaiian compound if it wasn’t altogether necessary. I had never fully understood how Sera was able to live in the Sierra Nevadas. No matter how many sweaters she wore or fires she huddled next to, it could never be the same as living near an active volcano in a tropical climate. Quite often, Tahoe was too cold even for me.

  That was Sera, though. She was a bundle of pure will, and if she had a reason to stay in a chilly mountain climate, then by god she would stay and be perfectly happy, thank you very much. Though Josiah was every bit as stubborn as his daughter, he rarely had to do things he didn’t want to do, including living for an extended period of time away from his home.

  This explains why, when we received a call at eight in the morning summoning us to Josiah’s hotel room, we were immediately concerned. He wouldn’t be back here if he didn’t need to be. None of us had gone to bed before one the previous night, but we were instantly awake. No one said much. We simply filled several travel mugs with coffee or tea and piled into the Bronco.

  The hotel lobby was full of people bustling around and setting it up for the day. Old flowers were replaced with fresh blooms, newspapers neatly arranged on tables, and the cafe was full of people eating breakfast. We were surrounded by the mundane and normal, a marked contrast to our anxiety. We all knew something had gone terribly wrong. While we’d spent the last week relaxing and having fun, the killer had been working. Somehow, we’d forgotten that.

  We entered the room quietly and sat in the same seats as before. We clung to the simplest routines, the repetition providing a tiny bit of order. Josiah watched us sit, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, face grave. His clothes were rumpled, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. I had never seen this man look anything other than pristine and healthy, and his appearance was as worrying as the hour of our summons. His laptop was connected to the television, and we were all looking at the first frame of video taken from the campsite. The date and time were clearly indicated. The film was from two o’clock last night, or this morning. It was only about seven hours old.

  “I take it you have not yet watched last night’s surveillance footage,” he said.

  We shook our heads. Simon or Vivian usually checked the footage first thing in the morning, but today we’d come straight here.

  Josiah sat perfectly still, all his energy focused inward, as if seeking strength for his next words. “I keep the feed running on my office monitors. Last night, around eleven my time, the cameras began recording. I assumed it was just another animal. When I saw what was happening, I attempted to phone Sera, but she did not answer.” This was no surprise. When Sera slept, nothing less than a sonic boom could wake her. “I ordered my jet and flew most of the night to be here.”

  He pressed a button on the computer’s remote, and the film began. Because it was a motion sensor camera, there was no buildup, no wasted frames. As soon as he pressed play, a man appeared on camera. I felt my breath hitch. I was seated, and yet I felt myself falling, felt the world shift as an impossible sense of deja vu crept over me. For the second time in my life, I watched a grinning, masked figure stand before the camera. He wagged one finger at us, scolding us for even daring to try to catch him, then immediately covered the camera in ice. The lens cracked, and the screen went dark.

  “What the hell?” While I sat frozen on the sofa, trying to comprehend what I just saw, Sera felt no such inhibition. She instantly stood and paced the room. Her quick, staccato movements revealed her anger more clearly than shouted words ever could. Small flames burst from each finger. She wanted to destroy something, I knew. I felt the same way. “He’s dead. You confirmed it. Four bodies in the warehouse. The guard, Amanda, the man who lived there, and him. How the hell was he there last night? How is he even breathing?”

  Brian moved to the window. He kept his back to the room and said nothing, but tension radiated from every muscle. The man who had killed his girlfriend was still alive.

  No one had an explanation. Everyone looked shocked and slightly ill. I remembered the first time I’d seen the man, I’d felt the same. It had been my first glimpse of pure evil. Sure, I’d seen documentaries and news stories featuring killers, people who did unthinkable things, but there was always a distance. I could say, “Oh, that’s horrible,” and mean it, but it never truly affected my life. This man brought evil directly into my world and laughed while he did so, and somehow, impossibly, he was doing it again.

  Mac slowly looked up. “Does this mean there’s another body?” he asked reluctantly. It wasn’t an answer he really wanted to hear.

  “I’m afraid so. A human this time,” I saw Mac’s shoulder’s relax, just a little. I knew he had human friends and cared about them, but the shifter deaths were personal. “His name was Jeff Brown, and though this video indicates an ice was at the kill site, the man was suffocated by earth.”

  Sera and I immediately looked to the other, twin expressions of horror and fear on our faces. Jeff Brown. The video game enthusiast Sera had briefly dated. “This killer has multiple targets, doesn’t he? His victims, but also Sera and me.”

  Josiah nodded. “We now have five bodies, and every one of them is a human or shifter that one of you dated. I cannot imagine that being a coincidence.” He rubbed his hands roughly through his hair, causing several sections to stand up. “This would be a lot easier if you two hadn’t been quite so cavalier in your dating attitudes. I was under
the impression that you had protected these men as best you could?” This last question was directed toward Sera, a father disappointed in his daughter’s behavior.

  “We did,” she insisted. “We checked on every guy we ever dated. They were all gone. The student population around here is so transient, it’s not a surprise. The only two unaccounted for were Richard Hill and Jeff, and we assumed Jeff had just wandered off a while ago. He wasn’t the sort of guy to leave a forwarding address. Damn it!”

  Suddenly, a burst of flame flew from her fingers, hitting an artificial plant in the corner and setting it alight. It was a deliberate hit, a desperate attempt to let off steam, but it also showed how tenuous her grip was on her own control.

  Without a word, Josiah pulled the fire to himself, warming his hands briefly over the flames before extinguishing it altogether. A moment later, he stood and moved about the room. He pressed one hand to Brian’s shoulder. It was likely intended to comfort him but, if possible, Brian’s muscles only tensed further. Josiah shrugged, unbothered, and leaned against his desk.

  “We thought we’d prevented this. We thought we’d done whatever we could,” I said quietly.

  “You’re convinced you have no other ex-boyfriends lingering in the area?” asked Josiah. We both nodded. “Good. Then we only have one person unaccounted for, and we have to hope Richard Hill turns up soon. Even if we are unable to find him in time, there is a bright spot.” He smiled happily at us, waiting for us to draw the same conclusion.

  We stared at him blankly before I realized what he meant. “He’ll have to change his pattern,” I said dully, wondering how the bright spots still involved dead bodies. “How is he alive?” I asked, returning to the salient point.

  “There has to be a partner,” said Brian. “The second gunman theory is the only one that explains how he escaped the warehouse in the first place.”

  “And the fourth body?”

  “He killed someone else and planted it,” he said.

  I shook my head. “Not possible. We passed the fire trucks on our way into town. He wouldn’t have had time, especially not with the fire still burning like that.”

  “Could someone at the police station have doctored the report?” Mac asked Brian.

  “It’s always possible. It would be a small change to make. But that gives us what, three conspirators? And one a cop? I know these guys. They’re over at my uncle’s every Fourth of July. Not one of them is an elemental, other than my uncle.”

  “Unlikely,” agreed Sera, “but it is an option, and a far more logical one than any of the others we came up with. We need to explore every possibility. Can you get us the name of the cop who signed off on the report? We should have a friendly conversation with that particular officer.”

  Josiah thought for a moment, then nodded. “I must have a copy in my files somewhere. I’ll get you the information later today.”

  Vivian held up her tablet, several steps ahead of the rest of us. “Got it. It was signed by… Stephen Grant.”

  Everyone turned to see Brian’s reaction. He was pale and shaking his head vehemently. “No way. This is my uncle. The man who basically raised me. There’s no way he could be a dirty cop.” He crossed the room and joined me on the sofa.

  Dirty cop was the smallest of our concerns, but Brian’s thoughts hadn’t followed the same path the rest of ours had. He was still loudly explaining all the reasons his uncle had more integrity than the rest of us put together when I cautiously asked, “But your uncle is an ice, too, isn’t he?”

  Brian opened his mouth to respond, then found he had nothing to say. He opened and closed it several more times, trying to articulate a thought that seemed stuck in his throat. If it hadn’t been so sad, his utter speechlessness would have been comical. I wrapped my arms around him, and he leaned into me, still shaking his head. “No,” he murmured quietly. “No.” It was his only word, a steady denial of what we were suggesting.

  “No one’s making any accusations,” soothed Sera. “But this is the only lead we have right now. We need to explore it.”

  “Not the only one,” I said, squeezing Brian’s hand. “We don’t know why there were no killings for ten years, and we don’t know why the partner is committing the murders this time.” Even if Stephen Grant was somehow involved, there were still far more questions than answers. “Could we check prison records? See if anyone just got released from a ten-year term? He might have been incarcerated for something unrelated? Or check housing records? This could be someone who used to live here and moved back a couple months ago.”

  Vivian was already working her electronic magic. Her fingers moved assuredly across the board. Five minutes later, she had the name of every recent parolee in the area, the address of their parole officer, and a list of their crimes.

  Josiah blinked at her. “I assume that information was acquired in a wholly legal fashion, Ms. Charles.” I could almost swear he sounded impressed. I’d never heard him use that tone before.

  Brian managed a shaky grin. “Her Google fu is mighty.”

  Vivian simply offered a small, serene smile. I reminded myself to never trust Vivian’s innocent smiles.

  Sera swiped her finger across the tablet, skimming the list of names. “Got one,” she said excitedly. “In for eight years, out three months ago. Convicted of aggravated assault. He’s a white dude, about the right height and weight. Worth checking out. Brian and Vivian, you’re with me. You might be able to sense if he’s earth or ice. Mac, will you go with Aidan to talk to Brian’s uncle?” I heard the words she wouldn’t actually say. Protect Aidan, just in case.

  A few weeks ago, she had insisted that I was the strongest water she knew. Now, she was sending me off with a bodyguard. I was working on that whole personal acceptance thing Simon had suggested I try, but moments like this made it difficult to be happy just being me.

  “He’s off work today,” said Brian. “You’ll probably find him at home. And Aidan... no snark, okay? Don’t push him too hard. He’s a good man. I know it. He’s such a clean cop, he doesn’t even feed information to other elementals.” He looked directly at me, his blue eyes pleading.

  I nodded. “Damn, Brian. A girl could be offended, the way you ask her to hide her best quality. Next you’ll be telling me not to scowl at him or astound him with my vast knowledge of 70s cinema.” I kissed him solidly on the forehead. He knew I didn’t mean a word. Except for the 70s cinema part. Anyone who gets me started on the relative merits of early Coppola vs. early Scorsese better have several hours to kill.

  He squeezed me, accepting my assurances. Minutes later, we all left, splitting up in search of information that might, for once, lead us closer to this bastard rather than continue to steer us in giant, hopeless circles.

  Chapter 13

  Brian’s uncle lived in a small ranch house a few miles south of the interstate. The house had clearly been built sometime in the 50s, but it was well-maintained. The yard in front held neatly cut grass and carefully ordered shrubs, and the house’s exterior was a pristine white. Hanging by the front door was a cheerful sign made of colored wooden letters that proclaimed this the home of the Grants. We pulled up the circular driveway and stared at this suburban dream for several long moments.

  “Well, they do always say that serial killers seem like such nice people,” said Mac doubtfully.

  “For the moment, I’m working on the theory that he is exactly what he seems, and I need you to do the same. This is Brian’s uncle, and he’s innocent until proven guilty. Treat him like you’d want your own family to be treated.”

  Mac cast a look that was simultaneously pained and amused my way. “You’re really not setting the bar very high with that request.”

  When we knocked on the door, it only took a moment before a middle-aged woman opened it. She was slightly plump, and her brown hair was threaded with grey. When she smiled, crow’s feet framed her eyes. And yet, she was remarkably pretty, the sort of pretty that depended more on the expression
in her eyes than the color itself, and the smiles that caused the wrinkles mattered far more than the resulting lines did. “You must be Aidan! Brian called to say you were coming. And Mac, is it? Come in, come in. Let me get your coats. Stephen is just in the kitchen. Go see him. I’ll join you shortly.” She urged us toward an open door and bustled off.

  Mac mouthed at me, “Who is that?” I shook my head. When I’d lived here before, Stephen Grant had been a bachelor.

  The man himself stood in front of a white mixing bowl, a set of electric beaters cutting through pink dough. He wore a faded pair of jeans, an old flannel top, and an apron. He didn’t look like a killer. For that matter, he didn’t look magic. He looked like a middle-aged father relaxing on his day off.

  “Aidan!” he cried, putting down the mixer and dusting flour from his hands. “I haven’t seen you in years. How are you, my dear?” He kissed me on the cheek and offered a tentative hug, trying to avoid covering me in dough.

  “Wonderful, Mr. Grant. It was Thanksgiving, about 12 years ago, I believe.” Twelve years was still a significant passage of time for this man. Like Brian, he possessed a mere sliver of magic and could only control small items. More importantly, it lessened his life span considerably. He’d be lucky to reach one hundred forty. Another generation removed would be, for all intents and purposes, human. Based on his own wrinkles and grey hair, I guessed that Stephen Grant had already passed the halfway point in his life span, though his body still looked young and fit. He was the sort of cop who spent more time in the community than he did sitting in a patrol car, and it showed. Unfortunately, it also meant he had the same height and build as the ice on the video. I put that thought firmly out of my mind. Innocent until proven guilty, indeed.

  “Goodness, that long ago? Brian told me you up and left one day. He was quite upset about it, I remember. He was always so fond of you.”