by Debra Dunbar
This had been Dark Iron’s work, without the help of a mage skilled in death magic. I dreaded getting a close look at the victim on the carpet. Maybe Raven’s car had broken down. Maybe her phone battery had died. Maybe she’d stopped in Leesburg for happy hour, got drunk, and met a hot guy.
I recognized her immediately. Raven. Dead. She had been left for me, as a warning, as a punishment, as a way to put me in my place. This was meant to scare me, to remind me that I was a baby in the world of magic, and that I was playing in a world where nobody gave a shit whether I was a Templar or not.
She was spread-eagle like a Da Vinci print, her red-tipped hair a tangled mess. He’d used U clamps to anchor her wrists and ankles to the floor. I walked toward her, not caring that I smudged the symbols or was contaminating the crime scene. With a shaking hand, I smoothed the locks of hair off her face.
She’d died pissed. Somehow it helped me push down the nearly debilitating grief. She hadn’t been afraid or crying as she died. Angry eyes glared. Her lips were drawn back in a snarl. I looked and saw that even her hands were fisted. He’d sliced her wrists, the inside of her thighs, along her waist. The cuts were neat and even, meant for pain and the drawing of blood. The other wounds on her chest weren’t as neat. They looked as if someone had been trying to hack a chuck of her chest off.
Blood was neatly arranged in bowls around the inside of the circle. It was all so staged. He hadn’t wanted a flood of red to dilute the impact of Raven’s naked, sliced body. It was almost as though he’d cleaned the cuts and her skin, to show off all he’d done.
My hands weren’t shaking quite as much as I reached my fingers out to smooth the torn skin along her breastbone. I was probably going into shock, falling into an odd numbness that would dissolve into tears and pain once I got home.
The feeling of the skin under my fingers jolted me out of my detachment. The flaps of skin were colored by more than blood, and there was an odd raised quality to the mark that I recognized. A tattoo, and a fairly recent one. Judging from the scabbing and the dark lines of ink, I was estimating that Raven had gotten this two or three days ago.
Dark Iron had hacked at the tattoo with a fury he hadn’t shown in the rest of his knife work. There was one good reason for him to do that to a tattoo—it wasn’t just a tattoo. Raven saw how Bliss had died, knew that Fiore Noir wasn’t shy about sacrificing other mages. She’d gotten a tattoo over her heart chakra, in the same place where Araziel had placed his angel mark on Bliss.
Clever, clever girl. Raven had guarded her soul. She’d locked it down tight, to keep death mages from using it in ritual. Dark Iron may have killed her, but he hadn’t taken her soul. That was Raven, kicking ass even at the end.
I stepped back, the enormity of it finally hitting me. Dead. Raven was dead. And she’d died sticking her neck out to help me. Dark Iron would pay for this. I’d track him down if it took me decades. I’d make sure he paid, whether it was through jail time or with his life. I wouldn’t let my friend’s death go unavenged. I yanked my phone out of my pocket but instead of dialing Tremelay, I called someone else.
“Hey. Know you’re busy, but I need your help.” I swallowed hard, forcing down my grief and rage. “I’ll be in your debt.”
Chapter 34
YOU’RE NOT IN my debt.” Dario stared down at Raven’s naked body, his eyes dark and angry. “You’re family, and there’s no debt with family.”
Family. Was that really how he thought of me?
I hated for Dario to see Raven like this, tied to the floor and naked. Even with her furious eyes and balled up fists, she seemed so vulnerable. Not that Raven ever cared if anyone saw her naked. She’d confided that she had an affection for streaking, nude beaches, sex in very public places. “It’s just a body,” she’d say with a shrug and a naughty grin. “Everyone’s got one.” Still… I felt like she should be given a bit more dignity than us memorizing every cut and bruise.
Dario stepped back and turned his eyes to mine. “So, why me? You’ve got the city police on speed-dial. That detective friend of yours is closing in on these people. Why call me?”
I didn’t know why I’d called him, I just had. In spite of the rocky patch in our friendship, Dario had my back. I had the feeling he’d always have my back. And outside of my family, far away in Virginia, I couldn’t say that about a lot of people.
I shrugged. “You told me earlier that the Balaj had dealings with Fiore Noir.”
He nodded. “It started out with us asking them for assistance on charms, hexes, magical security. They help us, and we help them. Do you think they did this? I would have thought they’d be lying low, the few that aren’t already in police custody, that is.”
“No. I know who did this. It wasn’t Fiore Noir.”
So the Balaj helped the death mages and they in turned provided magical items. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what the vampires had done for the group. Screw it, I did want to know. I couldn’t keep turning a blind eye to these things. “Helping Fiore Noir how?”
Dario’s expression froze, stiff and impersonal. “If there was someone they needed persuaded to do or not do something, we assisted. If someone needed to be gone, they were gone.”
I swallowed, remembering pseudo Araziel’s words. My vampire pilgrims were pretty darned far from the path. “So if Leonora is all buddy-buddy with Fiore Noir, why ask me to look over that symbol last week? Why not go to them?”
He looked heavenward, as if I’d become mentally deficient. “We weren’t sure it wasn’t them. They’ve tried stuff in the past.”
Once again my eyes strayed over the chalk symbols on the carpet to my friend’s corpse. “Dark Iron killed her. He’s part of Haul Du, the mages in DC but he’s been working with Fiore Noir, exchanging the use of his stolen soul trap for them killing people he wanted gone.”
A muscle in the vampire’s jaw twitched. “But why Raven? I thought she was tight with this guy, part of the group. Why kill her?”
“Because she knew. She knew he’d contracted to kill three Haul Du Mages and Bliss. She knew he was using the soul trap. She knew that it was a stolen item that could get him dusted by the Conclave. I told her to get out of town, but she was trying to help me get rid of this demon mark.”
“Demon mark?”
“Happened last week. I’m working on it.”
“That’s the weird burn on your waist that feels like an ice-cube when I touch it?”
I nodded, finally getting to the point of my questions. “Can you use the Balaj connections with Fiore Noir to give me Dark Iron?”
“I wish I could. Unfortunately most of our Fiore Noir contacts are dead. We didn’t work with the ones in jail. Gryla was always careful to have someone else as our liaison. If I could, I’d give him to you with a bow on top.” He motioned toward Raven. “I liked your friend. If I can help, you let me know how. I’ll make it happen.”
I swallowed hard. “See if you can squeeze any mages you know to get me Dark Iron. I’ve got Tremelay looking, too. Other than that, I guess it’s up to me.”
Dario put his arm around my shoulder and gave me a quick hug before releasing me. “Baltimore’s Templar. Or what was it those role-playing people called you? A paladin? I’ll do everything I can to find this Dark Iron. I’ll even get a Renfield or two on it during daylight hours.”
“Thanks.” My mind raced with how the heck I was going to track down the mage. I’d never managed to learn his real name or occupation after I’d left Haul Du and eventually had let it go. Now I was regretting I hadn’t tried harder.
Dario’s mouth tightened as he once again looked down at Raven. His expression reminded me that he was a vampire who had done horrible things in the course of his life and had no problem continuing to do those horrible things now and in the future. “I don’t know this mage, but trust me if he ever crosses my path, he’ll regret it. I liked Raven. And I like you—a lot. Immortality brings with it patience. I promise you that I won’t rest until this Dark Iron h
as paid for your friend’s death.”
I shivered, scared at this side of Dario, but oddly gratified. He’d avenge my friend’s death. He’d protect me. He’d do anything for me.
Except these were things I needed to do on my own.
“Thank you,” I said again. I meant it. I really, really meant it. “But I intend to take care of Dark Iron myself.”
And now it was time to call in the cops, or at least Tremelay. I pulled out my phone and dialed, putting my hand on Dario’s arm. His muscles flinched under my touch.
“I better get out of here. I don’t think your detective friend is all that fond of me, and I have work to do.” He reached out and touched my arm before he left. I put the phone to my ear, my eyes unable to look away from Raven’s body.
“Tremelay. We have another victim.”
It wasn’t just another victim, though. It was Raven. And that made all the difference in the world in what I had been planning.
Chapter 35
IT DIDN’T TRULY sink in until I got home. There was the cannoli that I’d regretfully shared with Raven. There was the book she’d given me, all sorts of research texts stacked up on the coffee table with pages of her hand-written notes beside them. I picked up the notes, tears blurring my vision.
Dark Iron had sent the picture to warn me, to scare me off. This was my final warning to get out of town, to stop messing in his business. Well, Dark Iron had no idea how bad things were going to get. I’d tried to walk a Knight’s path, even though I’d never taken my Oath. I’d tried to protect citizens, to presume innocence until proven guilty, to let diplomacy and the justice system work their magic. I’d tried to be the paladin my LARP friends kept calling me. I’d tried. But now Raven was dead.
What would have happened if I had ditched Tremelay and gone out on my own to hunt Fiore Noir down? What if I’d let the demons and the Araziel imposter do their thing, guiding them instead of holding them back? If I’d been more of a warrior and less of a peacemaker, then maybe Dark Iron would be dead and Raven would still be alive.
I ran my fingertips along the raised scar of my demon-mark. One call to Balsur, one trade, and revenge would be mine. I’d need to word it carefully, because demons were good at finding loopholes and wiggling out of any deal.
Raven would kill me for even thinking about it. I blinked a few times and read her notes, all about breaking links with the underworld that had been made without the practitioner’s consent. It was preliminary, nothing I could use, but a good start. She’d written three pages, citing different texts and even drafting a few ideas on ritual. No, I couldn’t make a bargain with Balsur when Raven had worked so hard to free me of his mark.
I just needed to be patient and wait for pseudo-Araziel to show up.
I pulled the sigil of the real angel from my pocket, smoothed the bent edges of the paper and placed it on the floor. He’d always show up right before I could call on Araziel. Maybe if I set up like I was about to summon the angel, the fake one would appear. I squinted down at the paper, but before I could make a decision, a pair of pristine-white Converse sneakers appeared at the edge of my vision. I jumped to my feet, nearly falling over the sofa as I grabbed for my sword.
“You wanted to see me?”
Pseudo-Araziel. My hand clutched at my heart instead of the weapon and I forced my breathing to slow. This guy was going to be the death of me. I really wasn’t thrilled about a demon having such easy access to my apartment. It was past time for me to up my supernatural defenses and locks around my residence. Dario sneaking in during the middle of the night with pastries was okay, but this wasn’t.
“Yes,” I gasped. How was I going to phrase this? How could I gain his help without revealing that I knew his deception? “Raven is dead,” I finally said. “The head of her magical group killed her, the same guy who contracted for them to kill Bethany—your marked human.”
He rocked back on his heels, a look of surprise on his face. “Your friend? A mage killed your friend and now you want me to do something about it? What happened to your ‘no violence toward the humans’ approach?”
I narrowed my eyes. “All but two of the Fiore Noir mages are in jail right now. I need your help to catch them. I promised you and I promised Tremelay that I’d see them all in jail. I need your help to find them and then to find the mage who killed Raven.”
The “angel” nodded. “Of course, they must all be brought to justice. You’re sure that the police have enough evidence to deliver justice, though? Your friend died. It would be a horrible thing for her murderer to walk free.”
I knew what he was getting at, what he was pushing me to do. Honestly after seeing Raven dead, he didn’t need to push. “I don’t know if the police will be able to prosecute Dark Iron. If not… well, I can’t let him get away.”
There was a gleam in the angel’s eyes. “Get your sword and I will lead you to him, as well as the other two mages. They need to either submit to human justice or die, though. That was our bargain.”
It would be dawn in a few hours, but I wasn’t ready to toss all night in bed, thinking of Raven and how she’d died. I threw a few items I’d been working on in my purse, slid the butter knife in one pocket and my keys in the other. Then I picked up my sword, strapping it to my back cross-body so I could draw it over my shoulder if needed.
“The deal here is that you lead me to them, and let me take charge. No ripping their souls out of their chests along with all their internal organs, okay?”
Pseudo-Araziel looked surprisingly meek. “I promise I won’t kill the humans. I’ll let you do it instead.”
That wasn’t quite what I meant, but as long as he held back, I’d take it.
Araziel navigated me through the city streets, which were less-traveled than usual in this buffer time between night and dawn. Not to say there weren’t the occasional cabs, smoky-window SUV’s, and bleary-eyed folks either heading home or in for an early shift. We headed northwest, through downtown and Druid Heights, skirting Rosemont and into Forest Park.
I was on edge. Baltimore had more than its fair share of urban violence. While this section wasn’t the worst, it definitely wasn’t anywhere close to gentrified. Homes that had once been beautiful and well-cared for suffered from a distinct lack of maintenance. I watched the street signs as we headed up Garrison Boulevard, well aware of Gwynns Falls just a few blocks over to the west as I drove north.
“Turn here.”
Here was route 26, Liberty Road. We were heading toward Howard Park, near where I remembered there being a golf course. After six months of being clueless in the city, I’d finally gotten a map and one of those tour-guide booklets, determined to figure out what was where. It wasn’t easy. Baltimore wasn’t huge, but it was a mess of tiny neighborhoods nestled into each other like a set of Russian dolls. What further complicated things was the gentrification that like to re-name neighborhoods and change traditional boundaries in an effort to sell homes at a higher price.
“Here.”
Milford Avenue. Now that we were driving past homes I slowed down, waiting for Araziel to tell me which one our target was holed up in. Tremelay had already hit their registered homes, so whichever mage this was, he or she was staying with a friend.
Which made me even more uneasy about bursting into their house in the early morning hours, brandishing a sword and accompanied by a psychotic demon impersonating an angel.
These were nice houses, all with newer aluminum siding and detached garages with alley access visible behind each home. Araziel pointed at one and I pulled to the curb, the righteous fury that had driven me out on this mission faltering. It was four in the morning. The house was dark. I couldn’t go bursting in on these people, demanding to know where they’d hidden a mage. It was better for me to call Tremelay.
“Who is this one?” I asked the angel as I pulled my phone from my purse.
“Eleanor Jean Jackson. Born 1980 in Silver Spring, Maryland. This is her ex sister-in-law’s house.”
>
I hesitated. “Does she have kids? The sister-in-law, I mean, not Eleanor.”
He shook his head. “She makes Eleanor stay in the garage, because she doesn’t trust her. Bad things happened to her brother when the two broke up, and she always thought Eleanor had something to do with it. She never would have sheltered the mage, but she’s scared of Eleanor and was worried that if she refused she’d be hit by a bus, or crushed by a falling porch roof, or suffering from seeping boils over most of her body.”
“Stop.” My hands were sweating as I stared at the phone. Call Tremelay. Just call Tremelay.
What if the “angel” was mistaken? Or lying? I glanced sideways at him, gnawing my lip. Should I burst in there to grab some woman on a lying demon’s word, or just have Tremelay check it out in the morning?
“She was there at every murder,” the angel assured me, his voice cool and impersonal. “Eleanor drew the symbols, she chanted to direct the victim’s energy as they died.”
And she might have slipped away by morning. I opened the car door and climbed out, shutting it quietly and pulling my sword from the scabbard. “Is Eleanor alone in the garage? Any wards of protective magic that you can see?”
Araziel shrugged. “That’s not my thing. I just walk right on through whatever they’ve got. Nothing can hold me, nothing can hurt me.”
Must be nice. I dug a bag of herbs out of my pocket along with a charm bracelet. I’d only had time to charge three of the charms, but it would have to do. Three charms for three mages.
We snuck around the side of the house, through the back yard to the garage. I paused every few feet to chant and throw some herbs in the air, just to check for spells. My companion rolled his eyes each time. He’d been doing a floaty thing beside me, his hipster guy form moving out of synchronicity with the motion of his feet. I know he didn’t care if anyone saw him, if a neighbor dog started to bark or he set off a magical trap, but I did.